Our Easter Sunday.

Ken took off early this morning with some of his mates, to a vintage bike meeting.  He left a card and box of dark chocolates on the table for me for Easter.  I had told him I didn't want any more Easter eggs;  if he must buy me something, I'd rather have a box of individual chocolates that we can share.  So I was happy with the box of Chocolatier dark selection he bought.  But we won't be eating any for a few days, at least he won't.

I had lunch at Eltham's newest cafe with a friend, then we drove over to Warrandyte to look at an art gallery, as all the galleries in Eltham were closed today.  We had a great day, and I arrived home about 5 pm to tell Ken all about it.  He was stretched out on the couch and when I asked if he'd had a good day he said no, he'd been throwing up all day!   Poor bugger had eaten some hot dogs and they must have been off, because he was fine before that.  Nothing worse than puking in public in front of your friends...
I'm off to make him some toast and a cuppa.