Scones like crack cocaine.

Yesterday at The Bluebird Cafe (check the tatt) there was: Nutella and banana, Maple syrup and pecan, Blueberry and walnut as well as cheese and plain.
I walk to work every fucking day in a feeble attempt to stave off death.
But the smell of those gorgeous, fluffy, still-hot-from-the-oven mouthwatering
pillows of love mean I have no choice but to go in.

Since she has opened I have put on 45 stone.

And don't make me tell you she went to Memphis just to learn how to make
pulled pork.

It is to die for. Quite literally.