Saturday morning. We're up at 4.30 am. The 9 hour time difference taking longer to adjust to than usual. This may be due to a rough and sleepless flight back. Somewhere over Butte the plane shook so much the water jumped out of my glass. On board there was a cathedral choir returning to England from a tour of California. As the plane lurched they started to sing. A psalm amidst the turbulence might have seemed like a good idea to some passengers but was rather too much like a scene from 'Airplane' for my liking.
It goes without saying that Bob and Sophie think that getting up early and haring round the garden in the pitch dark is a wonderful start to their day. We head off to the bakers at 5.00 am. The cakes on display somewhat less 'muscular' than the example seen on sale in Carmel.
Ladies of the night, recreational pharmaceutical users and late returning clubbers with more tattoos than is perhaps wise hang out in the Pacific Beach Denny's at four in the morning. They are joined for a while by a (comparatively) staid European couple who are adjusting to California time. By the third day the waitress has reserved us a booth by the window and is treating us as regulars.
'The Font' orders oatmeal and fresh fruit. Fresh fruit in Denny's means sliced bananas. Angus discovers the Sticky Bun Pancake Breakfast. Cinnamon sauce and cream cheese icing drizzled over two new fluffy buttermilk pancakes with glazed pecans cooked inside. Hash browns, a couple of eggs and bacon positioned alluringly alongside.
An article in the New York Times about our little touch of paradise. The cafe in the little market town marked out as one of the best in France. The effusive writer has clearly never tasted their coffee. How strange to be reading about it sitting under the neon lights of a California diner.
Not every Sunday morning is the same.
Some California golf courses could be in Scotland although the weather is altogether better.
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