Old Habits Die Hard

His Lordship and I tend to be creatures of habit until circumstances force a change.
Years ago, Sunday was a cycling day. We would put the bikes on the back of the car and bowl down to somewhere like Port Seton or Longniddry, park the car and cycle the high ways and byways of East Lothian before returning home tired but glowing with good health.

When the car had a terminal breakdown 3 years ago we sold it and became carless which meant that to get to the coast we had the minimum of a 5 mile pot holed ride to get out of town and the same one but uphill on our return.
We decided that we would have a new routine of walking for breakfast to what became known as the Temple of Toast. We were soon entrenched in this new Sunday habit, leaving the house at 7:45 and having the neighbours believe we were off to early Mass, because why else would holders of bus passes leave home so early when sensible people are still abed.

We fondly thought this routine would last forever, but gradually the doorstep slices of toast at the Temple of Toast became too much carbohydrate to stomach and we sought out alternative artisan toast at various other cafés in the neighbourhood.
However with the authority worthy of a South American war lord, His Lordship has decreed that from henceforth Sunday Toast will be home based. No discussion, just a decree. I fear an uprising in the ranks.

My blip therefore is of my paltry breakfast eaten after a 12 mile cycle round Craiglockhart, Morningside and more potholes, all of which was an attempt at compensation for my lost routine.