What a difference a couple of weeks make. I’m sat in a gorgeous Lebanese cafe in London called Comptoir. I’ve polished off the delicious Halloumi man’oucha which just oozed tasty, thigh fattening goodness and I’m waiting for my tiny rolls of baklawa heaven and a strong cup of coffee. A far cry from the sustenance I was party to in my previous experiment.

I’m currently on tour with NFK (no fixed kitchen) and I’m at the mercy of convenience food, crappy hotel breakfasts and my per diems. The past day has starkly contrasted my £15 a week and I’m now aghast at my own food habit. I love good food and good coffee and when I can I will feast like a queen. Equally when choice is limited, time is short and I’ve not been allowed to book my own accommodation, I will submit.

This morning I experienced the saddest London hotel breakfast ever.


I smelt the breakfast room before I saw it, musty. I glared blearily at the sad faces scattered around the room, eyes glazed, mouths slowly chewing, deaf to the world around them.

The staff loitered in the kitchen, no one said a word to me but they stood firm in their pack and stared hard at me. I waddled to the breakfast counter and pour a bitter brown liquid into a cup, then some swimming pool water into a glass. Then I stuck my claim on a table and returned to look at the food options. Cornflakes, branflakes, coco pops and another sugar laced cheap cereal. Probably rice crispies. The dispenser crushed some bran flakes into my bowl and I added a splash of milk. I noted the white crusty rim which had appeared on the glass jug and wondered how long it had sat there.

As I crept back to my table I looked desperately for a menu so I could pay for something more. Alas there were none. A lady then brought me toast and greeted me with “Room number?” I though this would unlock a secret level of breakfast club and she would now know that breakfast was included with my room and my stomach screamed EGGS! Alas she smiled and headed back to the safety of her pack.

My boyfriend being a European gent says if you’re going to eat sugar do it in the morning so I slavered my cheap white processed bread with cheap sugary jam and called it quits.

After I checked out I sourced a decent strong coffee and hoped for the best. So that’s why I’m now in a lovely restaurant and eating well.

Later today I travel to Brighton where I know a great vegetarian eat all you can. Can’t wait.

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