Last night I sent a rather unusual text message to my Mum. I needed to ask how long to boil and egg for in order to produce dippy eggs and soldiers. She was stunned. And rightly so. This from the child who has never been near eggs. Who mocks those who choose to make them not only a significant, but any part of a meal. Who can only just face making her lovely boyfriend scrabbled eggs at the weekend, and often wishes she could make them with her eyes closed.
For some reason over the past few months I have been craving them! Nothing about the slimey whites interests me, but I wanted to dip my toasted, salted butter soaked pecan and cranberry bread into rich organic runny yolks.
Or at least I did for this morning. I had them for breakfast, and think I've got it out of my system. The yolk was fine, but those quivering whites turned my stomach. Might as well try anything once. Just once.During these days of change, while I get used to a new house that is in a place so quiet that I have been sleeping all the way through the night for the first time since I moved down south, and used to a new commute, and generally the new rhythms of life, it is reassuring to know that in the midst of it all cats will still be cats.
Yes, this is Sniff sleeping on the one place he shouldn't; a freshly finished, blocking lace shawl.
And I'm still a big softie and can't bring myself to turf him off as he looked so comfortable!
Some things will never change!