Sunday morning

His mother has just popped in bearing a batch of light, fluffy scones. She's developing a rather deft hand since His grandma abdicated due to failing health... not that she is likely to die or anything anytime soon... she's the sort that will linger, being a bother, for years. Anyway back to the scones...

Piping hot, gentle curls of steam when you split them open...

And one small slave is sitting here with morning mouse and scones slathered in butter and jam

Don't hate J