Farmhouse Breakfast competition runner-up: Elizabeth Elder
I‘ve always liked the idea of a “farmhouse breakfast“, but we only ever have it in a hotel on holiday. I suspect that the concept has more to do with marketing than reality, a bit like the ploughman’s lunch.
My husband Jake likes to start the day with a cup of tea, a slice of toast and a few good pithy opinions. These are usually sparked off by an item on breakfast news. He may opine on serious world issues or simply speculate as to whether the presenter is pregnant, a vegetarian or has been at the dressing-up box again.
Today’s topic was NHS management thinking that the best way of reducing their carbon footprint was by reducing the amount of meat they buy. Oh dear – I knew that would get a reaction as soon as I heard it. Let’s just say Jake didn’t agree with the premise.
I‘ve come to realise that the morning rant is actually a form of brain-training, tai chi for the peasant farmer. Mentally prepared for the day, he puts on another three layers of clothing and heads out into the darkness to feed the cattle.
Archie, aged 9, likes to start theday by watching wrestling on TV in the living room and practising a few moves. This stuff is not exactly Mick McManus. They all seem to have to do to a spot of public speaking before they get down to any action. I call through for him to have something to eat – he’s too busy, but I’ve got an hour to persuade him before the minibus comes.
Julia, aged 11, is an owl rather than a lark. She doesn’t like to be up any earlier than necessary before leaving the house for school. Frequently, that means no breakfast or just a yoghurt on her way out, together with a request for money for some school activity. I drive her down to the village and collect the papers.
I‘m back home at 8 o’clock. Archie still won’t have anything to eat, so I have my breakfast – tea and toasted muffin – as I skim through our local paper. I start with the births, marriages and deaths (mostly the deaths) then have a quick look at the farming page to see if I know any of the people complaining. The rest of the paper is full of the recession, job losses, doom and gloom.
It’s hard not to get sucked into feeling depressed, although our own business is doing OK, mainly thanks to the fall in the pound. It all reminds me of the very difficult period we went through during the foot–and–mouth year (2001), when our costs went up and our prices collapsed. We decided to go organic at that point and have not regretted it.
At 8.27 Archie finally agrees to eat a ham sandwich and at 8.30 he climbs into the minibus. That marks the end of breakfast. I start my day’s work.