Offsprog One and myself put on our marching boots and walked up to the Ferny Hill Tea Room for breakfast this morning. It sits beside the road between Cockfosters and Enfield and serves up giant plates of breakfast, all the more welcome if you walk up there from Barnet and are ravenously hungry by the time you get there. It is big, wooden, light and cheerful with plenty of room for everyone of all ages and girths. You get lots of everything on big white china plates and the pancakes with maple syrup are particularly addictive.
Sometimes you sit alongside healthy-looking pensioners tucking into tea and scones. Almost always there seem to be tables of off-duty Black Cab drivers eating mega-breakfasts of terrifying proportions. At least, I think the are taxi drivers; they look as though they should be and it's Enfield, after all. I know a taxi driver who comes from Enfield so I suppose that colours my expectations. They fold their arms over comfortable tummies and expound, probably practicing for when they're back on duty in Town.
There is a farm shop there too that sells potatoes, carrots and biscuits but we didn't get a chance to go because we realised that its quite a hefty walk to the nearest bus stop to get back. In fact both of us missed out sizeable chunks of the day by having breakfast just off the Cockfosters-Enfield road. I haven't done any writing or music as I'd planned; the walk wore me out and now I'm sitting in front of the TV again, reading a book called The Long Tail by Chris Anderson which is interesting and plausible, except it says that people don't really watch TV much any more, and that's exactly what I'm doing.