25th October - An Egg-xcellent Experience...



This diary is, as you know, very much a mixed bag. Sometimes you'll get 4,000 words on trauma, love, and self-psycho analysis. Other days, I blog about eggs. Today is one of the latter, because my life as a 'secret Tory' has rumbled on in spectacular fashion over the past 24 hours, fresh from the news that the midget who ruined our economy is now in charge of the country. Following the egg-xtravagant purchase of the £320 bedding set from M&S, we spent £5 on a box of eggs yesterday, 'Cost of Living' whaaaat?

But these weren't just any eggs, these were Clarence Court eggs. You know those ones you've seen in the big orange/brown box, but you're too scared to buy them 'cuz they're a fiver for 12? Yeah, those. We've always been intrigued by them so we finally decided to treat ourselves, and this morning, we consumed scrambled egg which was so unique and almost Valencia blood orange in colour, that it almost didn't even taste like egg at all. It didn't have that slightly farty aftertaste, it felt smooth on the tongue, like an egg milkshake (nicer than it sounds, trust me).




The shells of these eggs are dark brown, and massive, and in all honesty, I've never seen a yolk like it. The say that a happy hen produces happy eggs. Well these eggs must have been sat in a giant leather armchair like those ones in the Caesar's Palace sportsbook, enjoying pedicures and massages. These are the Greygoose wankers of the Chicken world. If you find yourself with a spare fiver this  from the inside of Aunty Pat's card, why not pop down to your local superstore and treat yourself...




... To an egg-xcellent experience.


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