All is well. The computer crisis is over and in celebration I decide to make myself a chuckie egg butty to gather my nerves.

So  I chose two perfect Gladys May’s Braddock whites and set them to boil. And then because I was so dementedly excited about being back online I wandered off to check my email. And see who wanted to my new best friend on Myspace, and take a quick look at the new releases on Amazon, and have a quick trawl around my favorite blogs.

And then I heard it. The sound of two ducks screeching. Eggs cry when you burn all the water to nothing!  So I cooled them under icy water and peeled away their shells because in a waste not want not frame of mind I  was going to eat them regardless. And yes I suppose they were edible if you like eggs boiled to grey tinted death, but I  stood there looking at them, and thought, well no.

No! A grey, lemon-yolked egg does not a chuckie egg buttie make. I’m not having it! I will not  compromise. I want a scrumptious golden orangey yellow soft yolked egg, roughly chopped and mixed with a spoonful of butter and  a spoonful of mayonnaise, sprinkled with salt, coarse black pepper and a dash of mouthwatering anticipation. I want it served between two delicious slices of thick honey and sunflower bread, and smothered in watercress. Nothing else will do.

Two grey sorry looking specimens  will not make me happy and that is all I ask: to be happy.

Happiness is a chuckie egg buttie. Make of this what you will.