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It was a busy day, but mainly filled with admin stuff rather than work stuff: filming intro videos, replying to emails, trying to sort out stuff for the first AIOTM, having a meeting about a podcast chat I am doing, dropping off stuff at the charity shop, proof reading my next tour programme (how many mistakes have I missed), writing next week’s Metro column, tidying up the house for a rare viewing, collating my receipts for the fucking taxman (am I right? Bastard! Taking our money so that we can pay for the stuff we use on a daily basis) and looking after my stupid child (actually that bit was a lot of fun - my daughter is a crazy whirlwind at the moment).
I looked like I might be running late for my two o clock meeting but wanted to grab some lunch first, so I was going to fry a couple of eggs and make a fried egg sandwich. I cracked the first egg into the pan, but in my haste I fumbled the second one and it fell towards the floor. Rather than just letting it go and accepting I was going to be one egg down, I instinctively tried to save the egg. And showed how rubbish my instincts are because I tried to catch it between my upper thigh and the kitchen cupboard. I mean if my conscious mind was in control it would have said, “Don’t do that, obviouslyâ€, but my subconscious mind had had to take the reins as things were happening so fast and clearly it thought that was a good idea. I mean it could have worked maybe once in a hundred times, the egg hadn’t reached maximum velocity yet and my leg might have cushioned the blow… I don’t think I would have lasted very long as a foraging prehistoric man. If that’s how my instincts work. I mean there wouldn’t be any kitchen tops there, but if an egg fell out of a nest in a tree and I tried to catch by pressing the outside of my leg into the bark of the tree with the egg in the middle… I would starve. Or be eating a lot of barky eggs.
My improvised egg saving attempt failed and of course I ended up with egg all over my jeans and the kitchen floor, meaning I had to waste valuable seconds I didn’t have cleaning my trousers (no time to change - they wouldn’t smell eggy til tomorrow) and wiping up yolk from the floor (no one would buy a house that’s covered in albumen). It wasn’t even a soft part of my body. What was I not thinking?
I had my meeting and if the man noticed I had egg all over me he didn’t say anything (he was late anyway so I’d been rushing for nothing) and the people looking at the house didn’t ask about why there was egg everywhere (though they did think there was condensation on the windows, but luckily that turned out to be just dirt, because we are disgusting).
I am amazed I have lived for almost half a century even in the modern world really. But here I am. Having meetings with an eggy upper thigh.
