Our favourite time in the week is our Sunday morning breakfast and the threat of skipping it is enough to send Ducks and I into a complete spin. Most Sundays you can find us at our local cafe which, until we moved was a mere 1 minute walk away – from our new place, it’s a whole 7 minutes by foot. It is the absolute truth when I say that proximity to ‘our cafe’ factored in the new house hunt.
Most weeks, we are joined by our friends who live a 7 minute walk away too – though they walk from the other direction and have been known to get distracted by some of the other amazing cafes in the area. The truth is, we’re spoilt for choice.
All these linked cafes (and several more) are really fabulous. Not just good, but exceptional. If there’s anything our little village in the city does well, it’s breakfast and I challenge anyone to find such quality and consistency in such quantity anywhere else in this city.
The fact that week after week we end up back at ‘our cafe’ is less to do with how wonderful it is (although it really is) and much more to do our intense parochialism and fondness of familiarity and habit. So what are we going to do when a baby arrives? Habit, ritual, routine…out the window! But I figure the best thing about being a Sunday breakfast couple and not a Saturday night party couple is that when babies arrive, they can come too, right!????!