As Easter Sunday dawned on the farm with another glorious day weather-wise, it seemed like the perfect morning to have a champagne breakfast. The sparkling wine purchased from Hungerford Hill a few days earlier nicely complimented the hot cross buns from the famous artisan bakery from the nearby riverport town, Morpeth Sourdough. Now, I am quite a hot cross bun eating machine with an uncanny ability to practically inhale them whole in the blink of an eye. However, this being Easter Sunday, I decided to embrace the Easter spirit and share my bun with a well-mannered magpie who delicately plucked pieces directly from my hands, discarding any unwanted Sultanas as elegantly as if he were a diner at Nobu who found a stray bone in his miso-marinated black cod. If only those pesky Indian Minors back in the big smoke had such gracious manners, I would probably be far more tolerant of them...
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