Now, breakfast is an experience. It’s a buffet with the usual suspects: sausages that are a bit too pink, baked beans that could fuel a small army, and a toaster that seems to have a personal vendetta against your bagel. But the cooked-to-order options save the day. Ask for a fried egg with a runny yolk, and you’ll get it. Pair it with their bottomless Costa coffee, and suddenly life is beautiful.
Here’s where my irony kicks in: I always swear I’ll only have a croissant, then I end up with a plate that looks like a medieval feast. And the staff? Saintly. They keep the orange juice refilled and never judge you for going back for a third helping of hash browns. You’re among friends.
