You’d be forgiven for thinking paying seven bucks – about four pounds fifty – for a continental breakfast something of an extravagance. Cheaper to self-cater. But the magic word was buffet. Help yourself. Confident I could devour far more than I could ever buy myself for that amount. Cereal. Stacks of toast. Fresh fruit. Gallons of tea. Well, almost.
There’d even been trays of thick cut bacon, fried eggs and mushrooms. Laid on for the numerous mining company employees staying at the van park. Sue, busy in the kitchen, had seen me on the road the previous day. Assured me I’d waved as she’d passed on her Harley. Generous plateful of left-overs quickly appearing.
