bacon: unfamiliar after years of eating the american kind (what brits call streaky), strangely thick and rubbery, like chewing ear lobe with large pores
fried eggs glistening with a lardy sheen
prunes, lurking in a melancholy black pool
small--almost shot-size--glasses of grapefruit juice, thin and sour like the gastric juices that creep up your throat after a heavy curry
mmm mmmm, anticipating those english inn breakfasts...