Seven o’clock in the morning and the day is just starting to warm up. Dewdrops glisten on slick blades of grass and a fresh chill in the air makes me shiver as I stand watching by the kitchen’s stable door. Dad is banging around with the pots and pans, slamming them down on the hot plates in preparation for his famous fry up. My mouth waters at the thought of the crispy, crackling bacon and eggs sunny side up.
I jump when he calls my name and whip into action. Potatoes are peeled, scrubbed and chopped into perfect little squares. The oil heats in the deep pan, waiting for their starched pale bodies to be submerged for a few minutes and then rescued with a spatula once they’re gorgeously tanned! Salt, pepper and chilli powder are generously sprinkled over the lot. (Who said massive amounts of salt could kill you!)
Dad barks out the order for the kettle to be boiled and toast made. No-one dares ask for plain bread. It’s just not right with the runny eggs! Sean, my big brother, slinks across the kitchen with a permanent sulk on his face. He knows that after breakfast the hard work will begin, but I’m still too young and naive to believe this should spoil breakfast!
The smell of fresh strong coffee, the heady aroma of fried bacon mixed with the hot oil and grilled tomatoes bring a huge smile to my face. I start to whistle the melody to Bluebird Out My Window and Dad chimes in. We finish off the preparations for brekkie in time for the last chorus. Sean is standing at the half door looking at the dogs trying to stand on two feet so that they can peep into the kitchen for titbits. When no-one is looking I know he’s stealing bits of bacon from the plates and giving it to them. I want to tell Dad what he’s doing, especially since I see my bacon going down faster than his plate. It’s so unfair!
Before I can open my mouth to complain, Dad shouts in his deep voice, “Right! Order up!” and we file in to collect our delicious servings of Dad’s famous fry up. Complaints are forgotten, hot coffee is sipped and all is right in the world for thirty minutes.
Suddenly the thought filters in: who will do the wash up?