There I was, innocently
sitting in front of the computer up in the study this morning when this
almighty BANG from the other end of the house got me out of my seat quick
smart. Sounded exactly like a bird hitting the window, only a bit louder, so
wondered whether it was the kookaburra that’s been terrorising the
neighbourhood, flying at our windows and rapping like fury at his reflection.
He’s been one seriously disturbed bird, thought I’d investigate, but as soon as
I headed up the passage I immediately realised that wasn’t the cause of the
noise.
A distinct burning smell
reminded me that about thirty minutes earlier I’d put three eggs in a pot on the stove with
the intention of having hard-boiled eggs on hand for salads and egg and lettuce
sandwiches. Now I’ve boiled pots dry before, but being greeted with an egg
explosion which covered every horizontal and vertical surface in the kitchen,
then landing as far away as the dining room floor, table and window sills, and
even making it through the doorway into the lounge room, that was some
explosion.
Twenty square metres of egg
debris. I guess the good point is that they were hard boiled, so the cleanup,
though lengthy, was pretty straightforward, and spurred me into doing the
post-Christmas pack away the decorations, take down the cards and vacuum the
house. Even yesterday’s dishes in the dishrack had to be done again to remove
the eggy residue….as well as the kettle, the toaster, microwave, mobile,
newspaper, pot plants, kitchen door, fridge, you get the picture.
Blowflies were having a
field day, trying in vain to penetrate my fly-wire fortress as every door and
window was opened to disperse the smell. Couldn’t really understand what the
attraction was for them, it’s not like I was cooking meat, but maybe all they
need to stimulate their gastric juices is the burning of anything food related.
Thought I’d reward them by dumping what I collected in the dustpan out in the
backyard for them to pick over at their leisure, as I certainly didn’t want it
festering away in my kitchen bin for another week.
Contemplated putting the
eggy mess in with my kitchen scraps which usually end up with my friend’s
chooks, but that felt distinctly cannibalistic and stepping over the line as
far as the fair treatment of our feathered food providing friends was
concerned. Probably wouldn’t faze them in the least, but at least my conscience
is clear.
So as far as this New Year’s
Eve is concerned, I’ve found you don’t need fireworks to finish the year on a
big bang, though in much the same fashion as confetti keeps turning up long
after the honeymoon, I have a hunch bits of stray shell might continue to
surface from hidden crevices for a while yet.