The Full English? Not a patch on the Full Australian or the Full Kiwi.

Sunday breakfast has become my favourite meal in the world. But only recently. The English Breakfast was always a bit unimaginative, even when it was nicely done. And invariably, it wasn’t. Fortunately, there’s been a profusion of Australian and New Zealand style cafes all over London to provide a much-needed alternative. How can sausage, egg and beans compare to a stack of sweetcorn fritters or lemon and ricotta hotcakes with an apple and wheatgrass smoothie? And this is the perfect track to accompany it. I’m just back from enjoying this sort of fare with my mate Simon, a South London boy who, like me, was only too happy at breakfast time to turn his back on his roots. I’m hopelessly nostalgic about many things. But a greasy fry-up in a greasy spoon is not one of them.