I can’t quite believe It’s Easter already. It only seems like two minutes since I was panic buying Christmas presents. Now I’m panic buying Easter eggs. Year in, year out, I am the last man standing, scouring the shelves for anything half decent. Hopping from supermarket to supermarket, to mini-market to corner shop to filling station. There’ll always be a three-year-old niece who ends up with an innapropriate Double Decker offering, or a brand-less bedraggled excuse for an egg with the foil peeling off. In such cases when visiting, I tend to slink in and place said egg somewhere beneath the inevitable large pile. No questions asked. However, in my more organised years I have be known to indulge in a spot of self-promotion by sending some rather gorgeouspersonalised gifts (all available at Little Lucy Willow of course should you wish to have a peek!).
I’m all for the Easter Bunny but my husband claims it’s just a money-wasting nonsense and was delighted to announce that our eldest niece, who recently turned 21, has now “crossed the Rubicon” so is no longer eligible for an egg, or a fiver in a card for that matter. I have always made an effort with the older ones, buying them bigger, nicer eggs, the ones with mugs and things, which irks him even more. It especially irked him that year when he left four of them behind the car then reversed over the lot…It was a pure Frank Spencer moment and despite everything, made me laugh (a lot). Not least when a passer by stopped to inform him of his actions. The rage in his bulging eyes betrayed the polite “thank you” he gave in reply. You see, it was tea time on Easter Sunday and we were against the clock. I suggested popping to the corner shop for a few (most likely dodgy) replacements. “No, absolutely not”, came the reply. So the eggs were handed over, crushed within their carrier bags, tyre marks in tact. We all laughed heartily, even my husband (after much persuasion). The mugs had seen better days but who cares as long as the chocolate was edible? The thing is, that for all his protestations about Easter eggs being a daft business, my husband will be the first to raid the childrens’ stash whilst warning of a toothless future if they so much as look at all that chocolate. Funny that, isn’t it?
