Yesterday I developed a sudden and inexplicable taste for left over boiled eggs. The two-legged ones had them for breakfast and it intrigued me to observe such a strange ritual so much that I went in for a closer look. I do have a fondness for scrambled eggs but to see eggs being eaten in their shells was new to me. And I have to say it was a very tasty experience.
I only ate some of Ange's though. The lummox had polished his off in about a minute and a half and well, to be honest, his leftovers weren't exactly appealing either. Ange made a beautiful job of delicately sawing the tops off her eggs so that there was scarcely a ragged shell to be seen whereas he had hacked his off like a deranged lumberjack, sending bits of shell hither and thither about the boat. One almost needs to wear safety glasses whilst he's attacking an egg. Also, Ange had eaten hers very daintily and that made the prospect more attractive compared to the dreadful savaging he gave to his eggs, clacking his tongue and slatching and slurping away, his lips curling and twisting around the spoon like a pair of angry eels fighting over a frog, flecks of yolk and albumen streaking his scruffy, straggly beard, his grubby, oil stained fingers plunging toasted soldiers into the centre like depth charges and spraying the eggs innards as far as the eye could see. Oh my word, it was awful to comprehend. By the time he was finished you'd have thought the eggs had been blasted apart with dynamite.
So I just ate some of Ange's and I thoroughly enjoyed it. So much so that next time they have boiled eggs I shall demand one all of my own and show the lummox how to eat it in a civilised manner.
P x
