More than toilet roll, the humble egg has really shone a light on the supply and demand balance in this country. We have two big supermarkets and two locals near us and I’ve not seen a single hens eggs in any of them for more than a week. Include two farm shops on top of that and it all means a lot of not a lot of eggs. Given that they are perishable I wonder just how many eggs the average person in the average house needs at the moment. Given that flour is also in thin supply we could be led into thinking everyone had been fooled the apocalypse really was coming and that they’d spend their last days baking bread and fairy cakes with Lily and Trixibelle, but we all know that’s just rubbish.
It’s odd, the things that people buy in a rush. It’s usually because of one Facebook post or news article. If people saw someone panic buying in a sex shop then all the dildo shelves would be emptied in a heart beat. They wouldn’t know why, they’d all just have a sick feeling in their stomach which they could only rationally fill with 10 inches of rubber. And as the shelves of normal, everyday things slowly restock so the same impulses bizarrely remain and idiots, including me, have kept an eye on the stuff that really (doesn’t) count so much anymore. There’s food to go around, keep calm, that’s the bottom line.
Wifey loves eggs. There is nothing she can’t or doesn’t make with them. She’ll have them pretty much any way you like except for the way Rocky takes them. Poached, boiled, scrambled or fried. Over easy or sunny side up. On a pizza, on a muffin and even on a bloody burger; if eggs are on the menu then she’s keen as mustard. I have no doubt that she loves me but if she woke one morning to find I had turned into a giant egg then she might grieve for a fleeting moment but after that she’d just boil me up, lop my head off with a spoon, sprinkle me with salt and pepper and eat me with a handful of soldiers. Of course she’d bugger up the toast; in our house she does the eggs but I do the toast. She loves eggs so much she even wants to buy some hens and a run so that we have a constant supply. I say no for now, but maybe when all this persistent cough crap either blows over or blows up we can look into it.
Anyway, I’m pleased to say that the search is over. This morning there were a few eggs left in Sainsbury’s and so I grabbed a couple of boxes. Do I feel guilty? Do I arse. I don’t think there’s been a day in the last 7 years that there hasn’t been an egg in this house and so after a drought of a week we’re going to have an egg-fest and balls to the rest. It got so bad the other day that I even bought 12 quails eggs in an act of desperation, but we all know that they wouldn’t make an omelette fit for a plump dormouse. With the exception of finding a few emergency Lemsips on Monday (apparently my face lit up) nothing so simple has given me more joy this week than finding those eggs and I know that Wifey will be as happy as can be when she gets home in her scrubs.
They ask what came first – the chicken or the egg, but these days who really cares and what does it really matter? If evolution had stopped at the chicken then we wouldn’t be in the mess we are now. If God created the egg to maintain the chicken family tree then why make them yummy with a bit of milk, butter, fried chorizo and a sprinkling of grated Manchego? Maybe this is one of his cunning tests to see how we’d cope or to show us what happens if we take eggs for granted. Well, your lordshipfulness, I do take eggs for granted because that’s the way the world turned out and it’s a bit too late to be calling me a hypocrite. Send me cascading into hell if you want but if you don’t keep those eggs coming you’ll have Wifey to answer to, and I wouldn’t bank on coming out of that one too well.
G B Hewitt. 26.03.2020
Note – perversely the one thing the shops aren’t shy of at the moment is Easter eggs. Remarkable things, priorities.