It would seem you can rely on your Mother and kind friends to read unsubtle hints on your blog and remember what you really want for your birthday. Breakfast in my household just got very chic!

But as I raced to slice my loaf, and jam my doorstops in I realised my 1920s toast rack was built to hold a daintier slice than I am used to. Clearly back then, breakfast was an altogether more elegant affair. Boiled eggs, kippers, Dundee marmalade and wafer thin toast with a mere scrape of butter. Forget smoothies, juicing, peanut butter and eggs benedict – and remember how far food has moved on.


But no matter how healthy I’m trying to be, toast is what I come back to. Toast slathered in hot salty butter and lashings of marmite is what I crave straight off the plane, guzzled down with mugs of tea. It’s also the lazy girl’s supper, a man would never put up with just toast, you’d have to bribe him with baked beans at the minimum. And don’t try and tell me the smell of toast hasn’t sent you careering off your no carbs diet in the depths of winter.


I see people eating “breakfast biscuits” on the tube every day and wonder how “break-ing” the “fast” has slipped so far down the priority list for the sake of an extra fifteen minutes in bed. Perhaps my toast rack and sugar shaker are a bit Fawlty Towers by today’s standards but one man would have approved;

“Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”

― William Morris


Get up early, make a cooked breakfast and marvel when you arrive at your desk how good you feel. Or head down to Quo Vadis in Soho during the week where breakfast is done properly. Newspapers, starched linen, tea in a silver pot, homemade bread and jam and a hot breakfast to knock your socks off. I’d be in their daily if I could.