A strange thing happened to me yesterday. I'd decided that we were all having eggs for tea - whether boiled, scrambled or fried - as we seemed to have bowls of eggs all over the place, left over from over-ambitious Christmas plans. Now, ordinarily, i look at the printed sell by date and add on a good couple of weeks, sometimes almost a month... How far would you let a good egg last? Or do you do as recommended by the supermarkets ( who have no interest whatsoever...) and bin everything past its due date?
Anyway, i figured i could probably get away with three weeks, and so put half a dozen in a pan of boiling water to have with toasted soldiers. There was a loud bang and one of the eggs completely exploded. Never had this happen to me before; and when i looked into the pan i saw the top of the egg had blown off just as if someone had cut its head off in an egg cup. Talking about decapitation, i have the most amazing gadget which i bought a few years ago when my eldest son was small, in a bid to encourage him to eat eggs. (We had so many chickens not eating eggs was not going to be an option). It is like a pair or scissor hands attached to a ring which you place over the head of the egg, and as you squeeze, little metal teeth come out of the ring and decapitate the egg in one go - kids love it. I expect this lot will want a guillotine for the cucumber or something.
We had Roast chicken with jacket potatoes, because i don't think a Roast should always be a big song and dance. You go for a treat with oysters, and pair it with a cheap accompaniment of bulghur wheat with aubergines and mint. I splurge on a free-range corn fed bird but make sure i keep the legs towards dinner tomorrow. I'm always tempted to carve up and eat while the going's good, but actually if i thought about it, i could probably save substantially if i cooked and was a bit more savvy in my planning.
The house i was after didn't come good. The landlord preferred to offer it to the other people. The dog was a problem apparently, said the farmer. My bid to become part of the community and send my children to the village school (which is struggling to stay open) meant nothing. Shame. Back to square one. I try and convince myself something as good will come up again, but i'm not hopeful. Would be nice not to be looking out on people's headless bodies as they go down the street, and endless phone calls to the council about Bernard's rubbish, next door. Since last time, the council has offered to charge him a couple of hundred to move it all from his back yard, so now it is dumped in the alley outside my back gate, and is called fly-tipping.I can see it's going to move back and forward like ping pong again. Last time, i took a deep breath, bagged it all up and took it to the dump. This time, i can't be bothered.