Tuesday morning. The Chopin of golden syrup is going to perform his Breakfast Fantaisie for teaspoon and dessertspoon. Such a treat to see those thin arthritic fingers pose a moment over the tranquil creamy surface. The oats lie quiet, possibly getting cold. But on the left a deep and mellow chord lands in the centre of the quivering target. Arpeggios, scribbles, signatures from the right cover the margins. What a score! It seems to wander clockwise now and widdershins in the same second, trailing off to silence with a few final isolated notes. All we can do now is to clap, and eat.
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