The Egg Family

Mr & Mrs Easter Egg have been lucky with their brood of five healthy Easter chicks; six were hatched but one declined the invitation to participate in blip fame.
They've certainly been luckier than the Edinburgh pandas, who never quite got the hang of what was expected of them.

Having asked his Lordship yesterday whether I might expect a hand decorated Easter egg from him, he sighed heavily and enquired if it was never possible for him to get any peace behind his door to do things he wanted to do , like snooze, listen to the radio or fumble with his laptop keyboard.

However being the man he is, he decorated not one egg, but two while I was out last night on a girlie knees up with family.
Sadly it will all end in tears this evening when the cry goes up, 'Off with their heads' and they go to the guillotine.

I was struck today by the difference between the Easter Sunday I knew as a child and what it has become in the increasingly secular society of 2012.

Back then, we would roll our hard boiled painted eggs down the slope of Blackford hill before going to church in our new Sunday clothes and obligatory Easter bonnet and even with luck, new Clarks sandals.
Then in the afternoon a visit to the grandparents for tea when my brother and I had to sit quietly while the adults talked. There were no shops open and playing in the street was a definite no-no. Even knitting was frowned upon.

Today there are families out walking and playing; there are cafes and shops open and a general holiday spirit. It all seems so much more continental than the Calvanistic Sabbath of my youth.
Sunday Best is becoming an outdated phrase.