Coded Message

I was up with the larks, up to the Co-op, and bringing back the bacon. And the beans. And bread, butter, tea, milk, mushrooms and tomatoes.

The Boat For My Potplants opened its doors, er, canopy, to its first (and very probably last) paying customers this morning.

Four gentlemen left with their bellies full, ready to face their day of trekking across the Essex countryside after sampling the breakfast, cooked exclusively for them by Yours Truly.

I was pleased with myself that I managed not to scramble the eggs (they were in fact supposed to be fried), but it was jolly difficult bringing everything together, having only the one ring burner.

They must have been happy 'cos they gave me a tip! It was 'don't give up your day job, Neil'.

But as I pocketed their payment(*), and grinned for becoming a few pounds richer, I'm now thinking of renaming the boat 'Cafe de Los Amigos'.

(*) =  coded message...THE DO MAN TAX NOT TELL