"Breakfast" - Church.

Normally in life when the sun rises and a sleepy eye is slowly opened to witness the beauty and wonder in the world, it is with a sense of joy at the prospect of sweet, sweet breakfast.  The mind begins to compensate for the sense of awful detachment as we lose sight of our dreams from the night before by reminding us of the culinary delights to come, should we but make our way down the wooden hill to the kitchen.  There to greet us will be our dearest friends; the faithful coffee pot, the cheery toaster, the sturdy frying pan and the all encompassing, wonderous smell of bacon!  Normally.

Not so in Le France, a country of such depths of misery, the french word for orgasm translates to english as "the little death". This can, in large part, be attributed to what the french call breakfast (a complete misnomer, if what we have seen so far is par for the course). It would seem the average frenchman is content to start his day on nothing more than a hunk of bread to which he is force to apply butter that is solid enough to construct a mid size house from followed by jam/jelly of such runny consistency that is should be more correctly referred to as juice. He is then encouraged to drink long sittting coffee and to possibly ingest a piece of what is considered cheese but has slightly more in common with yoghurt than is really good for anyone concerned.

All in all, this is a great shame, as it leads french people to smile only when they have later consumed lakes of wine, when if they but looked about them they would see a stunningly beautiful country and possibly espy a weary but cheerful band of brothers gadding about the place i search of rugby and fun, occasionally giving a rousing shout of "Up the mighty Saracens!"......