Easter already, can you believe it, where is the year going?
I didn’t post last week because I had a germ and was horribly sick. These days after the hospital horrors I just stop if I am ill and look after myself, so I did that. I am on the mend now and looking forward to seeing the family on Sunday when we will celebrate the GDS having his second birthday a couple of weeks ago, the OH having his 68th on Tuesday and quantities of chocolate eggs which are just worth celebrating on their own. After the weekend we move into the best season of the year by far.
Yes dear reader, up and coming it’s marked down supermarket Easter eggs season. This yearly festival sometimes lasts only a few days. I was happiest when we had a Woolworths because they had vast quantities of eggs to begin with and, therefore lots of leftover eggs to be reduced. Because of this they tended to reduce the prices in three steps. The first was as markdown of pennies on the ordinary eggs about two days after Easter once shoppers were unlikely to be soothing their consciences about folk they had forgotten. Quite a few eggstras were sold and the remnants of dozens of shelves moved to one display unit. After a pause, usually by the following weekend, the very expensive eggs would be reduced by five pounds a bash and the bashed eggs on the bottom shelf to a pound a go. This was the time to keep your nerve. You could pass by and hover and watch the less controlled shopper swooping on medium priced eggs with a pound off but still costing a lot in terms of weight for the chocolate, still charging a lot for a fancy cardboard box. At this stage on the bottom shelf more eggs would develop holes and casualties with robbed out innards be removed completely. But for those of us with nerves of steel the weekend after next was the one to wait for. Large quantities of garden plants arrived in the store as the gardening season got underway, shelf space was at a premium and the remaining eggs; posh ones in huge gold boxes, ones with fancy chocolate selections and anything with a big red ribbon were put on a table by the door displaying seriously slashed prices. And then those of us with iron self control would dive in off a trolley and swim around in the best, the thinnest, the finest chocolate of the year.
It is by such iron self control that I have achieved the figure I celebrate today. Oval. I blame those adverts in the Sixties, telling you to go to work on an egg.
Eggstatically happy Easter to you.
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