One memorable morning in the last century I had breakfast in St Bartholomew's Hospital staff restaurant, with an American x-ray sales rep.
Leathery eggs swimming in grease, bacon cut from the uppers of an army boot, 20mm black armor-piercing sausages, postmortem hypostatic tomatoes, cold rubber toast with frozen butter, and lukewarm bilge in a coffee cup.
At the checkout my colleague asked "How can you f**k up an English breakfast?"
"800 years of practice, sir" was the smiling reply.
What's his face from eastenders tell a simpler joke.
Guy asks for an English breakfast but says I would like you to cook it my way. "Hows that"? the chef replies.
"I want the beans cold on top, tepid in the middle but burnt on the bottom, I want the egg to be the same, I want the fried bread so fully of oil it leaks all over the plate and covers everything in grease, I want the sausages black and hard so when you try and get them with the fork they spring off the plate"
"I dont have time to do all that" replies the chef.
"You found time yesterday!" Replies the guy
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