Easy like eggs on a Sunday morning

I awoke early on Sunday morning to an empty right-side of the bed and the thumping of little hairy feet on the stairs.
It appears that the newly-installed Playstation 3 has taken my other half from me and has worn her out so much with its relentless gaming-power that she has passed out on the couch from exhaustion.
This must be how it feels to be a human in the future of the Terminator franchise - helpless before the power of the machines.
The dog doesn't really give a shit about the complex mechanics of our human relationship - or how a computer gaming console can come between people so rapidly - so he proceeds with his usual game of 'staring in your face like an idiot'.
I continuously inform him of the futility of this contest and how there'll never be a clear winner....he just keeps staring, throwing in the old 'cock the head sideways' routine every minute or so.
Sigh.
We've been living in Ballsbridge for 4 or 5 months now and I've grown to really like it, after my initial scepticism.
Yes, there are hordes of rugger-loving, Crok-sporting, nice-but-dim D4 posho types around but the pub up the road is a cracker, the neighbours are lovely and it's really nice to be in a leafy suburb ten minutes from town.
Somehow though, I had, up until now, not made it here for breakfast (NOT brunch, NEVER brunch) in all these months.
Sinead (I'll link to her myspace as she recently informed me she intends to begin myspace blogging again soon) has been to this Juniors place a few times, a trip of about 1 minute from our front door, and has come back espousing the delights of the finely cooked food and 'Galway-esque', i.e. cramped, design.
But those times have been with her friends and I don't want to crash her girl time. y'know?
That said, last time she went down with a friend of hers, some drunken young men bought them both Mimosas and then sought deep and meaningful relationship advice so maybe I should have made the trek before now, if only in a supervisory capacity.
We sat inside, as all the outside seating was filled with the beautiful people.
I'm pretty sure I actually saw two pairs of oversized sunglasses eating breakfast at one stage.
The giant Prada ones seemed to be shoving devilled eggs into its lenses.
Weird.
I had the 'Breakfast of Champions', which was absolutely sublime, consisting of a giant, succulent Cumberland sausage, streaky-yet-meaty bacon, a rosti, a two-yolked fried egg, a small slice of thick toast, not-from-a-can beans made with tomatoes and proper beans, black & white pudding (something I would never normally entertain) and a massive mushroom and tomato double act, both remaining half-eaten at the end, thanks to a near-full-to-capacity belly.
Sinead opted for a New York steak (thick and charred), eggs with Hollandaise sauce and some deliciously small, roasted potato chunks.
I often judge eateries by their coffee and this coffee was delicious - fresh, frothy and strong as an ox. Even the orange juice was freshly squeezed.
As you can probably see if you have a gander at the menu, it wasn't particularly cheap but as a treat at the weekend, it's well worth it.
As we were paying the bill, the waitress/cashier admired Sinead's beautiful dress and then asked me about my t-shirt.
"It's an Animal Collective t-shirt", I said.
"What's that?", she said.
"A band"
"Oh right. Well I think Irish men don't usually make much of an effort dressing so you're doing ok actually"
Personally I think the t-shirt is a little too 'Ivan Lendl in the 80s' with its purple/lime green/white combo but I like it...and so did she, apparently.
If you fancy a visit to Ballsbridge, and someone to admire your pretty ropey t-shirt, then you could do a lot worse than giving Juniors a go.