Pink breakfast

I woke up one morning at my friend’s old, old, old house . There was a group of about 4 of us feeling groggy after an evening of drinking when he asked us if we fancied something to eat for breakfast.

I was rifling through his cupboards and there were row upon row of mysterious pink tubs of processed looking food with Asian labels as that’s what his new girlfriend liked.

I was trying to wrangle together a bit of a fry up but struggling as all four of us were indepentantly clattering around the kitchen grabbing our own sets of ingredients

At one point my chavvy weed smoking neighbour was also there blocking our access to the bread bin. He moved out of the way and we all pounced on the bin, but all that was inside were more pink packages with Asian wriging on them with pink slices of bread inside.

I took two slices of the bread and tried frying them in a pan deep filled with filthy dark oil. They initially sank in the bubbling oil but after a minute or so floated to the surface looking like regular fried bread.