A Halo of Butterflies

Many years ago I learnt a trick which has scored me many free meals. Whenever I see a film shoot and I am hungry, I just wait in line at the catering truck. As long as I can feign the standard boredom of an extra, there is never usually a problem walking away with some hot food. Today at Paddington, the ploy resulted in a breakfast of sausage-filled croissant.

It was a good start to a good day. Early sun warmed the shadows. Blossom exploded from trees. The gentle hiss of sprinklers accompanied Melvyn Bragg as he led me through the Battle of Thermopylae.

Crossing Sussex Gardens, I began walking with Muse and gained company. A halo of butterflies circled my head. Two iridescent orange satellites in elliptical orbit. I expected them to decay, but they maintained their dancing formation. I pushed on for a full half mile reborn in the image of Quetzalcoatl. Maybe, just maybe, my mojo is returning.

A Very Brussels Breakfast

I had a very Brussels breakfast today, Irish tea, English baked beans, French omelet and Belgian spiced meatballs. If I had been so inclined, the mish-mash on my plate could have been expanded to take in a breakfast item representative from every country in the European Union.

With a good’s night sleep, I might have been able to turn the symbolism in the clash of food cultures in the Crowne Plaza restaurant into a witty, coherent point about the EU itself. However, witty and coherent is nigh on impossible on less than 90 minutes worth of zzzs. The symbolic meaning of German cheese and Polish Szinki will just have to wait for a day less fuelled by rocket launch grade coffee.