Sad eggs

Sad eggs.

I am abroad thinking of all the times we were abroad.
It's a special thing, going somewhere you've never been
with someone you have baths with
but for the first time I'm going on holiday on my own.

The airport is full of happy people with optimism and hats
but Im like a ventriloquist asking if a dummy has been handed in
at lost property or a Robbie Williams impersonator
just hearing the news of the death of Robbie Williams.

The hotel I'm staying in has an egg station in the breakfast room
there's a whole section about it on their website.
They're clearly proud of it just as I was proud of you
for driving again so soon after the accident.

Being in a crash that's not your fault is unimaginable.
The policeman at the hospital said witnesses had seen
the drunk cyclist appear round the bend with headphones on
and I remember when we first met, both of us drunk

when you appeared out of nowhere in that bar
and soon we were in bed and then in the bath
and that cycle continued for so long but now 
my alarm is going off and it's the first morning of my holiday.

The egg station was popular in the breakfast room.
People queued to make them and I did too. I'd I never
Have a boiled egg at home but there I was, waiting in line.
Sometimes things just look delicious and irresistible. 

like you did every morning. After eating eggs on my own 
I passed the hotel receptionist and asked if she had a map
of the town and her face lit up and she said yes
there are so many places you have to see.