Originally published by The Clifton Courier, April 10, 2019 

I can be a little bit extra.

For people who don’t spend at least 59 per cent of their time on the Internet, “extra” is a term bestowed on people who are flamboyant, indulgent and, well, perhaps a little bit much.

It’s about the only word the young folk use that I fully comprehend, perhaps because it applies to me to on a fundamental level.

Extra is being someone who believes “corporate sequins” is an office-appropriate look. Extra is imagining yourself immortalised as a Barbie doll. Extra is writing about how extra you are and what you eat for breakfast in a column dedicated entirely to you and assuming people want to read it*.

* I had many more examples of my behaviour that qualified as a “extra”, which I didn’t have room to include. But because I have the luxury of eternal space on The Internet, I’m going to list those now: 

Extra is repeating Natasha Bedingfield’s made-famous-by-reality-TV-trash-The-Hills Unwritten the entire way home so you can nail the chorus.

Extra is demanding strong-looking strangers lift you Dirty Dancingstyle when Darryl Braithwaite’s The Horses plays on the dance floor.

Extra is having two going away parties, one goodbye breakfast and a farewell bottomless brunch when you move cities.

At least, that’s my understanding of what “extra” is.

Being extra can be exhausting – particularly for those who have to endure your presence – but it has its uses, too.

This particular combination of intolerable personality traits means you eat quite well. You’re not content with just eating a stale, store-bought jam roll. You’re either going to opt for a insufferably wanky clean treat made with spelt and cashew butter, or you’re going to get a pastry so elaborate, it looks like something from Versailles.

When I’m faced with an office breakfast, I don’t settle for sad microwavable porridge packets or milky poppers promising a fibre hit. No, I go with something that looks like a full on café brunch. And all it takes is a wee bit of preparation the evening before.

If you want to be like me (may heaven help you) and eat like a non-gender-specific monarch, just follow these easy steps:

Step 1: Make yourself a cup of tea, because everyone deserves a decent cuppa at the end of a day.

Step 2: Boil two eggs. I’m currently dealing with an induction cooktop and have no idea what that means, so I just boil them until the kale’s done and my tea’s gone.

Step 3: Warm up a frypan over a medium heat, glugging in a good tablespoon of olive oil.

Step 4: Grab a few stalks of kale, give them a rinse and pat them dry. I know, kale is associated with a lot of douchbaggery, but rise above that. It’s a good, leafy bugger that’s excellent for your rig and can actually taste great.

Step 5: Rip the leaves off the stem and all its branch-like offshoots. Chuck the leafy bits in the now-warmed oil.

Step 6: Sip your tea.

Step 7: Fill the sink with about an inch of hot water and detergent.

Step 8: Once the kale has a bit of crispness to it and is coated in oil, tip it into a microwavable container, seasoning it with salt and pepper to make the kale taste less like kale and more like salty oiled dreamflakes. Place the frypan in the sink.

Step 9: Remove the eggs from the saucepan, whack them in the container and tip the boiling water into the sink. Place the saucepan in the dish rack to dry – as far as I’m concerned, that fella is clean.

Step 10: Group kale container with a piece of bread and an avocado in the fridge, ready for the morning.

Step 11: Pull the soaking frypan from the dishwater, give it a quick, effortless wipe clean and let it dry.

Step 12: Seize the night, whichever way you deem appropriate – I recommend staying up too late trying to decide on something to watch, falling asleep the couch, then struggling to empty your mind after relocating to bed.

Step 13: You’ve managed to wake up, dress yourself and, hopefully, arrived at work on time. You’ve succeeded in not being frogmarched out of the office in disgrace, so celebrate with breakfast. Walk to the kitchenette with a spring in your step.

Step 14: Put pre-packed bread in the toaster making sure to readjust the setting in case some heathen switched the dial to “burn-the-arse-out-it”. Remove the eggs from the kale kontainer and microwave dem leavez for one minte. Boil the kettle.

Step 15: Peel the eggs.

Step 16: Spoon half the avocado on the toast, using a fork to mush it up.

Step 17: Pour hot water over the teabag of your choice into the sassiest office mug in the shared cabinet.

Step 18: Slice eggs and arrange artfully atop the avo. You could microwave them, but I’ve learnt that may be too precarious a pursuit for a communal microwave.

Step 19: Upturn the kale on top of the toast so you have a mound of smugness – seasoned appropriately with salt and pepper.

Step 20: Finish making your well-steeped tea.

Step 21: Walk triumphantly back to your desk, batting off compliments about your healthy, café-worthy breakfast as you strut.