Egg Run?

Were you ever involved in an egg-and-spoon race? If you haven't been involved in one, you haven't missed much. It's basically a race where one is supposed to run for their lives while at the same time, balance an egg on the tiniest of spoons. This, my primary school teachers told me, passes off as fun at the annual sukaneka. Well, it's not fun.

It's a mere waste of eggs and could be considered chick abortion or something.

Well, at least that was my excuse. In truth, as a fat kid, I wasn't quick enough to win any sort of race never mind a race that required me to keep my balance and not kill a baby chicken in the process. Keen to explore ways out of boredom of the dreaded sukaneka games, I took pleasure in cracking eggs. I'd drop them. I'd throw them. Anything to hear that crack and subsequent splat. I even taught myself to cook so that I'd be given permission to crack eggs at cooking class (egg fried race being the obvious favourite).

Fast-forward 20 years or so and childhood memories started coming back to me one evening.

Don't forget to get the milk for tomorrow. Oh, and eggs. A whole tray of 30 should do...

I was used to getting stuff for the house on the way back from work. My other half is also normally sensible when making her last-minute requests - always bearing in mind that anything ordered would need to fit in the glovebox or in a bag strapped on to the helmet hook. This time though, I was challenged. A whole tray of 30 eggs? On a Vespa?

That was like mass-baby-chicken-suicide or something.

But then, I was reminded that my Vespa was only recently accessorised with a shiny chrome rear rack.

Now's a good time to give it a go?

My wife might have just said, show me what you spent your 30 on, eh? She didn't say that but I still understood. So, with the help of a couple of straps and some curious looking eyes on me, my entire cargo and I eventually made it home safely. If only I had the Vespa when I was a kid...