I don’t like to bleat too much about illness so, suffice to say, that I feel like groaning all the time, that is when I’m not coughing or sneezing. In spite of my dire state (not to be confused with Dire Straights, the British rock band), upon awakening this morning and opening my poor watery eyes, almost my very first thought was Roland’s request for breakfast. As you may know Roland is over from Australia and staying with Chris and me.

“Do you know what I could fancy for breakfast tomorrow?” he had asked last night as he leaned over the bannisters on the stairs.

“Fried breakfast?”

“No, all I fancy are two boiled eggs – at  five minutes boil – and two slices of toast, one for soldiers and the other for raspberry jam,” he explained.

“Your wish is my command,” I answered. (Roland is very masterful.)

Neither Chris nor I fancied an egg this morning. As I have very little sense of taste at present I opted for a healthy breakfast of “All Bran” cereal and hot milk (the same bowlful that I couldn’t face yesterday and had popped into the fridge for later). Chris saw to his own toast while I prepared a tray for Roland, who was reading a newspaper out in the sunshine on the terrace. In went the eggs for exactly five minutes, into the toaster went two slices of farmhouse bread; onto the tray went salt and pepper pots, butter, cutlery, crockery and a pot of raspberry jam from the fridge.

As soon as the eggs and toast were ready I made my way, bleary-eyed, with Roland’s breakfast tray from the dark indoors to the sunny outdoors. In a short while we were all seated around the table, Chris was eating his raisin toast, I was toying with the large bowl of re-cycled “All Bran” and Roland was tucking in to his eggs. Chris and I were looking at our friend, as you do when someone is eating something more desirable than you have on your plate.

“Are the eggs alright?” I asked.

“Perfect. Five minutes?” Roland answered.

I confirmed with a nod.

“I can’t eat this,” I said, moving my bowl to the other table, “I’ll have a crumpet instead.”

And I spread some butter on a lovely thick crumpet (I just have it plain, without jam, otherwise I might have noticed it first – it being something peculiar!).

Roland had finished his eggs and began to attend to his toast, first the butter, then the raspberry jam. At the time I was enjoying a buttery mouthful of crumpet and paid scant attention to Roland’s antics until he started laughing.

“As you know, Sally, I’m very partial to beetroot,” he said, “but I’m not sure that even I would want to put it on my toast!”

Chris and I laughed (and coughed).

“Though in Australia they do say it’s very versatile!” Roland added.

I do wish he’d stop making me laugh – as if my cold isn’t bad enough already.

.