It’s Easter Day. Not Easter Sunday; people can get unduly annoyed by the use of the term Easter Sunday, but they tend to be the sort of people who get annoyed about anything to do with their religion being dissed. Anyway, I’ll stick with the Easter theme. I should warn you this article contains images some may find disturbing.

On Thursday I had a yen for some pasta, so I got some on the go and had a rummage to see what I had to go with it. EVOO and some cheese, with some chopped spring onions beckoned, then I discovered a duck egg I’d forgotten about. I like duck eggs, but you have to be a bit wary of them. I read somewhere that the shells, unlike those of hens’ eggs, are porous and can allow bacterial ingress, so I didn’t do my usual trick of breaking it directly into the other ingredients.

I tapped the egg on the side of a mug. The shell broke, but the internal membrane of a duck egg is made of pretty stern stuff, and it didn’t immediately rupture. I sniffed cautiously, but nothing untoward, so I used a bit more oomph.

I wish I hadn’t. I’ve smelt hens’ eggs that have gone off, but nothing prepared me for the sheer horror of what I unleashed. I was gagging. It smelled as if a chick had formed then become eggbound and died in there.

Now I had the issue of disposal. I wasn’t putting it in my bin, nor in the communal bin in the block where I live. There are some very frail people there who might not have had the constitution to take that sort of olfactory battering. Hence it had to go down the sink.

The consistency was almost as repellant as the stench. It looked a bit like baby sick mixed with snot. Terrible. I finally got the mulch down the wastepipe (Hint. Don’t use hot water to speed thing up. I made that schoolboy error and made the smell even more intense), rinsed out the shells, turned off the pasta, opened all the windows, and went to the pub.

You can all get back to your chocolate bunnies now.