i woke up this morning and the world had disappeared. from the balcony, across the water, it was whiteout. lovely.

i got to zumbo so early, the black curtain across the window was still down; the cake case was empty but for dewdrops; the pastry case was halfway being stocked; the counter was piled high in cakeboxes and crates of bread. the counterboy, seeing me give the bread the once-over, wordlessly slipped a loaf of soy-linseed into a paperbag, because i had mentioned, once, that it is my favourite.

i was distracted by the danishes. there are new ones: pear, and cherry. but for months i had forsaken the pear and macadamia scrolls, arranged, this morning, in perfect glistening rows behind the glass. they are always the ones which promise to be stickiest, and this morning i took them up on it. it was so early, i could take my time.

it was so early, the hot chocolate machine was not warmed up yet, so i must wait for another foggy morning. the macaron were not out, so i said i’d come back later for the blackcurrant one.

i walked past the newsagent with my bread and my danish, and the poster of yesterday’s news was still out front; it was so early. those herald sub-editors sure can write a pun into anything.

the toffee glaze on the pear and macadamia scroll is sweeter, and stickier, than i had imagined. it made me a little bit gleeful as i sat, drinking milky tea and watching the rowers drag themselves through the fog. i only ate half of it, because i also wanted a slice of bread and butter, and i thought it could (should) have been much pearier, although maybe all the fruit is in the other half, and my thoughts will shift accordingly tomorrow.

sometimes the sadness sits so tight in my throat.