EASTER EGGS
We seem to have a thing about eggs, me and Sandra. Apart from the ones we tried to get from our hens, and never even attempted with the goose, there are always shop bought ones, which is the way we get them as a rule. Sometimes we buy them from a small farm or smallholding out in the country, but mainly from the local supermarket.
Anyway, I’d bought some on my way home from work so that Sandra could do us a gigantic omelette. She’s good at omelettes, is Sandra, and always puts plenty of filling in them, like ham or cheese, or mushrooms, or even ham and cheese and mushrooms, not to mention odds and ends we happen to have left over in the fridge, which wouldn’t be left over, says Sandra, if it wasn’t for the beer cans the rest of the food likes to hide behind when it’s feeling a bit shy.
Brown eggs, they were. These are the ones I just bought. I thought I’d better mention that just in case you’d forgotten. I got brown, because they are supposed to be healthier than the usual white, only Sandra says that’s a load of old cobblers, they’re all the same, it’s just an excuse to con idiots like myself into paying a bit over the odds. Well, to be honest, she didn’t exactly say “load of old cobblers”, the reason being that she’s been properly brought up, but I know how her mind works by now, and I could tell that that’s what she really meant.
The colour of the shell, she told me, depends on the type of bird. After all, if you go out in the wild nature, which I hardly ever do unless it’s within easy reach of some pub or other, you can see birds nests with all sorts of eggs in them, including blue ones, green ones, and even mucky brown speckly ones, though not all in the same nest, of course. I must say I