A pitcher of orange juice, soft morning light seeping through dusty windows onto the cream coloured brick walls, old chipped porcelain tea cups above a hastily- stacked bundle of forgotten hard bound books, the familiar cluttering of spoons and forks against ceramic plates, an unshaven, scruffy ex-mass-murderer-slash-Vulcan-showing-inherent-violent-tendencies with a Billy Martin jawline, the morning after hair and a well-worn, slightly crumpled Save the F***ING EARTH T-shirt.

What could be more idyllic.