By Hetty Waters

The oil in the pan hissed as I placed in the succulent pork breakfast sausages. They began to emit a pungent aroma, almost overwhelming the scent of perfect, sunny side up eggs frying beside them. The table was set with shining silver cutlery and crockery that was reflecting the golden red light of the rising sun, glinting through the cracks where the curtains didn't cover the drafty windows.

Little screams let me know that my mouthwatering breakfast sausages were now cooked to the ideal stage; a crisp skin and tender centre. I slipped two golden eggs, three pork sausages and one slice of homemade white bread with melted butter onto my best plate, and poured freshly squeezed orange juice from the pitcher into my best glass . I sat down at the head of my dinner table, in the half light of the early hours of the morning to enjoy my breakfast in the silence that returned after the birds had welcomed the sun with their song.