Breakfast or lunch

It was Sunday. I never get up early on Sunday. I sometimes stay in bed until lunch time. Last Sunday, I got up very late. I looked out of the window, it was dark outside. What a day, I thought. It’s raining again. Just then the telephone rang. It was my aunt Lucy. I’ve just arrived by train. She said. I am coming to see you. But I am still having breakfast. I said. What are you doing? She asked. I am having breakfast. I repeated. Dear me, she said. Do you always get up so late? It’s one o’clock.