Breakfast Epiphanies

I've never been a fan of Porridge. It's like ready mix cement, but more filling. Porridge sits on your stomach like an unwanted house guest; every morning you wake up to find it still there in its underpants, watching the screen and reading three-week old tv listings. But anyway, today, faced with the choice of cereal for £3.50, a sausage sandwich for £6, or porridge, fruit and maple syrup for £4, I went with the latter persuaded by it's economic value and additional bonus features. Sure enough, when it arrived I drenched it in syrup and the resulting spoonful was the making of my morning. Spoon two was more problematic, the porridge was so hot it burnt the roof of my mouth and made it difficult to pronounce consonants. I had to wait for it to cool. And wait, and wait, and wait. Man, porridge retains it's heat like a 15 year old boy at a school disco. When, forty minutes later, it was finally cool enough to eat, I gulped it down, blueberries, raspberries and all. Which is why I am here, unable to move, with a stone baby in my stomach and a delivery date looming.