Ok, so I have a bit of a problem. With Easter Eggs. An obsession. Addiction. Thus when Easter finally arrives it creates a panic. Because that signifies the ‘end of life, as we know it’ and there’ll be no more Easter eggs til next year! What we (me, myself and I) call ‘the doomsday scenario!’ When I’m forced onto the wagon of abstinence by thoughtless and cruel retailers. But the other side of that Easter coin is that the remaining stock has to go. You can’t sell Easter eggs outside Easter. It’s agains the law.

I walked past the little Tesco on Fleet Street yesterday on my way to work, not needing anything. Then I stopped, walked back and went in. And I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. As I was faced with an Easter egg wall. A truly massive display, in prime position, of Cadbury’s Easter eggs. Piled up, the width of the aisle, must have been over a hundred. And marked with a sign that said: “50p”. Holy shit. Or perhaps, ‘holy grail’. Fifty pence for the ultimate ‘superfood’. But lacking my wheelbarrow, forklift, Transit van or even a bag, I decided to return later. Which I did. And by then there were about 15 left. So I bought 6. Had to. Couldn’t get more in the bag.

Yet this is the weird bit. There aren’t any people around in the City. But like, none. The odd soul. Tumbleweed. And me. So where did all MY fucking Easter eggs go? Who else bought them? When you don’t see more than 6 people on the street all day. When the little Sainsbury’s along the road hasn’t even bothered to reopen since the first lockdown. And yet 85 eggs had disappeared. Did the staff eat them? A few are pretty hefty. But even I’d struggle to eat, say, 20 in a day. I called the police. Then I called X-Files. Disappearing Easter eggs is a paranormal phenomenon. And is very worrying in case some alien motherfucker from Mars pulls up in his flying saucer over my kitchen and uses his tractor beam to relieve me of some of my hard-earned and well-protected stock!!! War of the World’s? More: War of the Eggs. And I would win. 

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that there aren’t seven-legged, three-headed, green-and-yellow monsters from Mars who love chocolate. 

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx