They use sellotape wrapped round their egg to hold it together long past its disintegration due date.
I’m talking about egg rolling – this is Easter Sunday remember. It’s tradition. I should really be hard boiling eggs right now, in preparation for their decoration by the approaching hordes. So we can then compete by hurling them down a hill to see whose gets furthest and last longest.
However, I anticipate stewards’ enquiries into egg reinforcement. Once the eggs are coloured and patterned or have faces added, any extra shell wrapping is less obvious.
Against the rules? Well, it didn’t happen when I was wee, round and wrapped in a criss-cross patterned jumper – much like an egg myself (according to the photographs). And that’s generally my measure on these things.
So before I get into boiling eggs and preparing food to actually be eaten – just time to wish you a Happy Easter.
The police called… but I didn’t answer as I thought they’d come to evict me. I hadn’t paid my rent in months. But then I got to thinking: my mum hadn’t been too good and what if it was something about her?
We had no phone in the hovel and mobiles hadn’t been invented yet, so I had to nip down the phone box. I rang home to Leeds to find my mother was in hospital and not expected to survive the night. “Get home, son,” my dad said.
I got to the railway station to find I’d missed the last train… I didn’t have the money for a taxi the whole way, but I had a screwdriver in my pocket and my bunch of skeleton keys.
I was so desperate to get home that I planned to nick a car in Peterborough, hitch hike, steal some money, something, anything. I just knew from my dad’s tone of voice that my mother was going to die that night and I intended to get home if it killed me.
It cheers up, honestly. Even British Rail come out of it well. Worth a look.