14 NOVEMBER 1987, Page 59

Mary Keen

THE only meal I ever eat alone is break- fast at weekends. In theory I come down- stairs to a warm and clean kitchen, where I drink fresh orange juice while I wait for the coffee to filter. On the table are five jugs of flowers, blue and white china and home- made marmalade. The newspapers have arrived. In practice I descend to find that the marmalade has run out and there are no papers. Before I can boil the kettle I have to move 36 pairs of my daughters' knickers off the Aga. Saucepans, dead flowers and the dish-washer must all be tackled before breakfast, by which time it Is too late to eat alone, because everyone else has arrived.