Easy like Sunday morning (in English)

A British breakfast Easy like Sunday morning, The Commodores used to sing in the early 80s....coincidentally. A spectacular Sunday morning. A view on the channel, pure sun, blue water, from a cozy room, as those we are used to seeing in the Patagonia. Last night I requested my breakfast at 8.30 (we are just 3 in this B&B, so the attention is 1:1), so I punctually turned up for what was mine [from this point onwards I negotiated special terms with my nutritionist's Internet supplier, so that her account is conveniently blocked, to spare her from the naked truth....my initial request to the supplier was 'a couple of decades'....we'll see). So I just went for my classical combo, all at hand in that cozy room: a fruit, some cereal, a yoghurt.....and while I was halfway through Iris, the do-it-all B&B manager lands in front of me a plate with 2 sausages, 2 slices of bacon, 2 toasts and 2 eggs. Everything fried. So much running, to end up with this mortal sin in front of me. Fact is that I had to rapidly make a decision on what to do before such caloric tsunami. In less than half a second, and on behalf of antropological interest, I attacked my plate with no regrets whatsoever. Now, a few minutes after the chaos, I am dropping these lines with a certain feeling of resemblance with the "Little Prince" elephant-eating snake. The antropological register has already been made. I negotiated a similar kind of breakfast only for my checkout day, and in the meanwhile I will keep a straightforward scheme of yoghurt, fruit, cereals and perhaps green tea. Almost, as a koala. An easy guest. Easy. Easy like Sunday morning.