The hangover

Cheung fun and coffee

Bleary-eyed, sleep slowly lifting, I look to the clock. Too early. My work-confused body thinks I should be scouring news feeds and editing copy, it doesn’t know what a Saturday is. I stumble to the bathroom, hallway too bright with daylight already. Stumble back, headache lurking in the back of my skull, hoping sleep can find me again.

Eleven. That’s better. The headache is still there, but less insistent now, waiting for a quiet moment before it reminds me how many times I refilled my wine glass last night. I stare, slow-blinkingly, at my phone for a little until I have it in me to fetch a coffee and retreat back to the duvet, while Vivian stirs beside me. And then, finally, the process of ordering breakfast can begin.

We’ve already slept through the McDonald’s breakfast hours, so that’s right out. There’ll be no McMuffins today, unless we cough up for one of East London’s myriad bougie breakfast sandwiches, which add a thin veneer of respectability for a mere quadrupling of the price.

Other sandwiches are mooted. There are big, heaving American-style subs. Banh mi, if we feel like something a little crisper. Toasties too, though we’re not in the mood. The thought of banh mi leads us on a brief diversion into Vietnamese food at large. Pho for breakfast, anyone? It wouldn’t be the first time, but somehow it doesn’t quite feel right today. Thai comes up, sushi too, but that’s not it.

We realise that Uber Eats is offering us 20% off, but only on select restaurants. That narrows things down. We scroll past the fried chicken and pizza, and spend a few minutes contemplatively browsing the quesadillas delivered by Sonora. They’re never quite as good as the tacos though, which are eat-in only, so we end up moving on. By now, we’ve been browsing Deliveroo and Uber Eats for 15 minutes. My coffee cup’s run dry; a decision is needed.

Next we spy morning rolls at The Shoap. We’ve come full circle, back to the bougie breakfast sarnies, though now with some Scottish flair. This is as close as we’ve come yet to filling a basket, square sausage and fried eggs calling to us across the highlands of Upper Street. But now an idea’s popped into my head.