Breakfast at Smithy's

In today's increasingly stressful life - 99% of the news is invariably so bad I sometimes find it a huge effort just to get up in the morning - it's comforting to know there are still some simple pleasures in life. Sunday mornings mean the great British breakfast - a couple of rashes of bacon, fried egg, some sausages, fried mushrooms, a couple of slices of buttered toast and a cup of coffee (the real McCoy, not that decaffinated stuff) - and suddenly the world seems a much better place.

But it's a sign of the times that even such pleasures can come under attack from an increasingly 'nanny state'. I read the other day that eating just one sausage a day can increase the risk of bowel cancer by 20%. Now, according to the 'experts', enjoying your freshly cooked bacon is already placing you at the front of the queue for a heart attack. And too much coffee isn't good for you. What some health-obsessed guardians of the state would have you eat is akin to a couple of slices of cardboard, fruit juice and five pieces of fruit a day - before you head out for a five mile run.

Now this may well be a sign of my advancing years but where the hell is the fun in that? Like thousands, probably millions of others, I love the great British fry-up. In fact, the great Scottish fry-up to be precise. Substitute the mushrooms for a slice of black pudding or haggis and making sure the bacon is of the Ayrshire variety and you're just about there.

Now Dr. Begood and associates may say I'm doing real damage to my arteries. But they're my arteries. My family has a history of heart disease anyway so there's a fair chance I could eat my cardboard and drink my herbal tea before running the equivalent of the Edinburgh half marathon every morning and still drop down dead before I'm pensionable age (as happened to my father and his father) In fact, knowing my luck, there's a reasonable chance I may get run over by a bus whilst out on my 'jog' - although admittedly the chances of it being a bus to Dalkeith are unlikely. But I still prefer to take my chances and have some enjoyment in life.

Part of my weekend is enduring the efforts (although I use the term loosely these days) of Heart of Midlothian Football Club, once pride of Edinburgh but now the plaything of an Eastern European empire. By Christ, I need something to look forward to.

Hang on - can you smell burning?