Sydney, our choccie Lab, is longing for a proper walk, as am I. So I put the boys in the buggy and head for the lagoon.
Except I figure as I walk down the front steps that the car key is much too heavy to lug around, what with pushing a double buggy uphill and yanking a permanently hungry Labrador every so often. So for the first time ever (and I blame this on you Kian for keeping me awake for the last 6 months), I decide to leave the car key at home. I close the door.
Oh no, where's the house key. Where it always is. On the same bunch of keys.
Sydney gets a much longer walk than she bargained for, while I figure out a way to break in.
At the bottom of the hill coming into town, I notice a cafe that somehow I've never seen before. It's buzzing. Every table is taken. Waiting staff look cool and casual in black. And they're busy taking orders outside.
I'm in a hurry. Kian will be crying soon for his lunch. But I have to take a closer look. Words like organic, sourdough and Hunter Valley jump off the menu. Ooh, could this be my dream come true?
My dream for years now is to live, if not next door, then a few minutes away from an exact replica of JoJo's in Whitstable. I loved it so much I wrote about it three times — one of my reviews is on their website. In fact, forget Ocado and Hugh FW, just open a JoJo's in Terrigal, Nikki and Paul, and my life will be complete.
The trouble is I've already set the benchmark too high. I'm not going to find free-range meat, local fish, fabulous cheeses, and the very best calamari I have EVER eaten here on the Central Coast. Am I?
Maybe not, but there's only one way to find out. Breakfast on Saturday morning.
If it's no good, I'll have to do it myself. One day.