Breakfast is a time fraught with dangers

The field is silvered with dew and a white, clean light is streaming in through the french doors opaqued by grime and splashes of lime. I did wash them last week but I am fighting a losing battle against Dougal the giant Leonberger puppy and the general state of decay of the place.

Him indoors, the mystic, is doing his Kundalini yoga practice. His nights are filled with meaningful dreams and visions of Sri Yantra. Me, at best, I dream that Eric Cantona is in love with me. How spiritual is that! I have tried and will again no doubt, to do half and hour of meditation and some arcane excercise, that he swears will keep me young. Too late for that me old flower!
Breakfast since giving up coffee which was bad for Himindoors third eye, consists of chicory and some infuriating but delicious toasts briochés. Infuriating because you have to butter them with the delicate dexterity of an explosives expert or they break to smithereens and even with the softest hand, you risk ending up with a plateful of crumbs if your butter isn't at room temperature and it goes without saying, not the room temperature we have here during the winter months, which on a good day, is slightly colder than the fridge.
But this said if you have made it to the table unijured byDougal's affectionate display, you are doing very well indeed. Usually he hurls his 6o kilos at me on the stairs (which are outside with no railing or bannister) I suspect some sort of an attempted coup. He is the Tonton- macout to the cats Junta and I alone, stand between them and complete power.
It's like living with a teenage brontosaurus with attitude. His head being well above the level of the table, it takes enormous concentration to hang on to one's breakfast, any slip of attention results invariably in the gulping down of your toasts. Combine that with having to strategically reposition your cup constantly to avoid the bits of plaster that fall off the ceiling while Himindoors is pirouetting his way to Nirvana and the assault of 3 felines looking for seconds and you have an idea of how dangerous breakfast is.
I think I'll go back to bed!