Recently, as part of my clean eating health kick (still going strong. WOO HOO!!) I’ve been planning my meals in advance. I’m using the MyFitness Pal app to track my calories and last night, for breakfast, I decided that scrambled eggs would be my Monday morning breakfast of choice. Two eggs scrambled, on multi grain ryvita, slices of creamy hass avocado on the side and a cheeky drizzle of my all time fave - sweet chilli sauce. It was 10 hours away and I was already anticipating my breakfast with the utmost glee. Then Craigy Boy had to go and ruin it all by informing me that we were eggless - he’d eaten the last two for his breakfast that morning. By this point it was 9.30pm on a Sunday evening. Tesco and Waitrose had closed at 4pm, the co-op at 9pm. My dreams of an eggtastic start to the week were slipping away before my very eyes…
Then I realised. What I fool I was! There were eggs on my very door step. Well, maybe not on my very door step. We don't own chickens and even if we did we wouldn't keep them on the door step. Less than 10 yards away, Hezza my Bezza would come to my rescue, I was sure of it! A quick phone call to my neighbour and best friend and it was confirmed - two doors down at number 9 there were eggs to be had!
I dashed out into the street, barefoot, because I’m crazy like that, and Heather met me at her door with a selection of large, shiny, organic eggs. (6 for £1 at the Brackley market on a Friday). CALLOOH! CALLAY! I would be having eggs for breakfast after all!
At this point you, the reader, may be questioning the pertinence of my seemingly random musings, as pleasant as they are, and I wouldn’t blame you. The story thus far does appear to bear little relevance to the title of today’s post. Allow me to explain.
Earlier in the day Craigy Boy and I had cleared my flat of the remainder of my possessions. I moved into his house a couple of weeks ago (house warming presents not necessary but if you feel so inclined…) and the new tenant is due to take over the lease of my humble abode later on this week. As I chucked clothes, shoes, jewellery, lotions and potions and an abundance of other (useless) items by the bag load into my car I threw up my hands in exasperation and exclaimed out loud: where in the hell am I going to put all this stuff?? I know, I’m a selfish wretch. Here was Craigy Boy prepared to let me share HIS home and all I could think of was the limited space available and how nice it would be to have a big house with plenty of storage space, a large garden, top of the range kitchen and maybe even a bathroom with one of those rainforest showers like the one I had in my hotel in London last weekend. That would make my life so much better, wouldn’t it?
Something as simple as being able to nip out into the street to get some eggs from a kind and willing neighbour at 10 o’clock at night made me realise that no, living in a bigger, fancier house would not in actual fact make my life so much better. Craig’s house, now our house, may be small but it is perfectly formed and it surrounded by good, kind people, people who would go out of their way to be neighbourly - Doug and Katie with little Evie (who just happened to be born on my birthday!), Heather and John, Alison and Gavin, Lisa and John… We do not live in each other’s pockets, we may not even see each other from one day to the next such is the frenetic pace of modern day living, but together we form part of a caring community. The houses round here may be small but the hearts of the residents are large.
Thus I, The Ginger Warrior, was reminded of a valuable lesson last night and all because I wanted scrambled eggs for breakfast.
The Ginger Warrior, over and out.