Breakfast at Restaurant Eleven

A short and sweet post today. Every weekend we lug all our wet washing down the hill to our local launderette to dry it (lots of wet clothes, a clothes horse and a single-glazed flat do not dry clothes make). One of the best things about doing this, is it gives us an excuse to nip into one of the nearby cafes for a warm drink and (occasionally) a bite to eat.

Last weekend, we popped into Restaurant Eleven for something filling. A pot of tea, a full English (me) and a bacon buttie (him) later, we were satisfied, full and ready to lug our now dry laundry back up the hill.

I love weekend rituals.

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