The Egg Joke

[Rag]

If you thought ‘Devastating Wit’ was poor… Stop now. Quit while your ahead.

If you still intend to persevere… You were warned, you have no one to blame but yourself!
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Mr White keeps chickens. Not ordinary chickens, mind you. These chickens are prize winning chickens. These chickens lay the big eggs. Every year Mr white does the tour of all the local shows and he always wins first prize in the biggest egg competition. And his rivals are getting increasingly more miffed.

So, anyway… Mr White wakes up in the morning and throws back the covers on his bed, gets up and stretches one of the biggest stretches you have ever seen. He walks over to the window, pulls back the curtains and looks out over his back garden. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue and there is a light scattering of little fluffy white clouds. ‘Oh, what a lovely day’ says Mr white.

He then gets dressed and goes downstairs, picks up his egg collecting basket and goes out into the back garden to collect up this mornings eggs. Now this take a little more time than you might expect, as his chickens are free range and tend to lay their eggs in the most inconvenient places, but he perseveres and eventually is satisfied that he has found them all, and goes over to see Mr Brown, his neighbour on the left hand side.

‘Good morning Mr Brown,’ says Mr White. ‘How are your wife and family?’
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Brown.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have some eggs for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Brown, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.
And Mr White goes over to see his neighbour on the right hand side, Mr Green.

‘Good morning Mr Green,’ says Mr White. ‘How are you and your dog?’, as Mr White knows that Mr Greens wife left him for an Appalation goat herder, after an embarrasing trip to the hospital that involved Mr Green, a pair of fur lined hand cuffs and a lightly grilled haddock.
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Green.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have an egg for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Brown, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.

And Mr White then goes back into his house and gets on with the matters that make up his day.

The next morning Mr White wakes up and throws back the covers on his bed, gets up and stretches one of the biggest stretches you have ever seen. He walks over to the window, pulls back the curtains and looks out over his back garden. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue and there is a light scattering of little fluffy white clouds. ‘Oh, what a lovely day’ says Mr white.

He then gets dressed and goes downstairs, picks up his egg collecting basket and goes out into the back garden to collect up this mornings eggs and goes over to see Mr Brown, his neighbour on the left hand side.

‘Good morning Mr Brown,’ says Mr White. ‘How are your wife and family?’
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Brown.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have some eggs for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Brown, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.
And Mr White goes over to see his neighbour on the right hand side, Mr Green.

‘Good morning Mr Green,’ says Mr White. ‘How are you and your dog?’.
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Green.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have an egg for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Green, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.

And Mr White then goes back into his house and gets on with the maters that make up his day.

As you may have gathered this is a bit of a routine for Mr White. A routine that has gone on for several years. So it will come as no surprise to you that this routine goes on for another month and a half. Rather than boring you all to death with the details, let’s just skip on, shall we.

So one morning, about a month and a half after we started this tale, Mr White wakes up and throws back the covers on his bed, gets up and stretches one of the biggest stretches you have ever seen. He walks over to the window, pulls back the curtains and looks out over his back garden. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue and there is a light scattering of little fluffy white clouds. ‘Oh, what a lovely day’ says Mr white.

He then gets dressed and goes downstairs, picks up his egg collecting basket and goes out into the back garden to collect up this mornings eggs and goes over to see Mr Brown, his neighbour on the left hand side.

‘Good morning Mr Brown,’ says Mr White. ‘How are your wife and family?’
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Brown.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have some eggs for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Brown, ‘but I’m afraid I have some sad news. I’ve been promoted. Oh, that’s not the sad bit… As a result of the promotion I must move North. It’s all rather sudden, so we shall be going the day after tomorrow. Um… that was the sad bit. We won’t have time to sell the house before we go, so it may be empty for a few weeks. I really would appreciate it if you could keep an eye on it for me.’
‘Oh, of course,’ says Mr White, ‘I’ll be sorry to see you leave’.

They bid each other a tearful farewell, and Mr White goes over to see Mr Green on the right hand side.

‘Good morning Mr Green,’ says Mr White. ‘How are you and your dog?’.
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Green.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have an egg for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Green, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.

And Mr White then goes back into his house, filled with excitement at the prospect of new neighbours and yet tinges of sorrow at the loss of the Brown family, of which he had become so fond, and gets on with the matters that make up his day.

So, for three and a half weeks Mr White wakes up in the morning and throws back the covers on his bed, gets up and stretches one of the biggest stretches you have ever seen. He walks over to the window, pulls back the curtains and looks out over his back garden. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue and there is a light scattering of little fluffy white clouds. ‘Oh, what a lovely day’ says Mr white.

He then gets dressed and goes downstairs, picks up his egg collecting basket and goes out into the back garden to collect up this mornings eggs. He then goes over to see Mr Green on the right hand side.

‘Good morning Mr Green,’ says Mr White. ‘How are you and your dog?’.
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Green.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have an egg for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Green, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.

And Mr White then goes back into his house, wondering when the new neighbours would arrive, and gets on with the matters that make up his day.

Later that day Mr White is pottering around in the living room when he hears the sound of a lorry pulling up outside the house next door. He peeps out of the front window to find his view of the street almost entirely blocked by a huge lorry with ‘Valley Removals’ written down the side in large red letters. The new neighbours have arrived!

Oh joy, thinks Mr White. New people to make friends with and to share my hens eggs with. Oh joy.

Eager to see what his new neighbours are like he resumes his peeping out of the window. As the lorry is blocking most of his view, he only catches the most fleeting of glimpses of the new arrivals as they ferry their belongings from the truck into the house. Chairs, tables, a giant inflatable leek, boxes marked kitchen, a large collection of Tom Jones LP’s, a purple sofa, a rather tacky table lamp made from sea shells, a framed, signed poster of the 1984 Welsh National rugby team, a cuddley toy, …

‘HANG ON’, he thinks. ‘A giant inflatable leek, a large collection of Tom Jones LP’s and a framed, signed poster of the 1984 Welsh National rugby team?! MY GOD!!! THEY ARE WELSH!!!!!!’

Now Mr White doesn’t really have a lot against the Welsh nation, but subconciously has never really forgiven them for Gladys Pewe in Hi-De-Hi. Now, he’s not actively racist, so there is no danger of the old dog **** through the letter box routine, but he really doesn’t relish the idea of living next to a… urgh (with shudder)… Welsh family. So at that moment he decides to impliment an egg embargo. He will not give any eggs to Mr Taff and his family. That will sure show them.

So for many weeks Mr White wakes up in the morning and throws back the covers on his bed, gets up and stretches one of the biggest stretches you have ever seen. He walks over to the window, pulls back the curtains and looks out over his back garden. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue and there is a light scattering of little fluffy white clouds. ‘Oh, what a lovely day’ says Mr white.

He then gets dressed and goes downstairs, picks up his egg collecting basket and goes out into the back garden to collect up this mornings eggs. He then goes over to see Mr Green on the right hand side, completely ignoring Mr Taff on those occasions when he is out tending to the family pet, ‘Flossy’, with more care and affection than Mr White thinks is necessary, or even strictly decent.

‘Good morning Mr Green,’ says Mr White. ‘How are you and your dog?’.
‘Fine, thank you for asking.’ says Mr Green.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Says Mr White, ‘Have an egg for your breakfast’.
‘Thank you very much’ says Mr Green, ‘Cheerio. Have a lovely Day.

As I say this went on for many weeks, until one morning. One fateful morning Mr White wakes up in the morning and throws back the covers on his bed, gets up and stretches one of the biggest stretches you have ever seen. He walks over to the window, pulls back the curtains and looks out over his back garden. The sun is shining, the sky is a rich blue and there is a light scattering of little fluffy white clouds. ‘Oh, what a lovely da…’ says Mr white.

‘Oh my GOD!’, he exclaims as he gazes down on a horrific sight. One of Mr Whites hens has laid an egg in the middle of Mr Taffs garden. And not just any old egg. Ohh no. This is the biggest egg that Mr White has ever seen one of his hens lay. That one’s a prize winner for sure

He cannot let Mr Taff have that egg. So he quickly throws on his clothes and scurries down into the back garden. He leans over the fence and tries to take the egg. Unfortuntely he just can’t reach it. His finger tips are brushing the shell, but he can’t quite grasp it. Now he could quite easily hop over the fence, grab the egg and hop back again without anyone being any the wiser. But he is a law abiding citizen and refuses to violate another mans property, even if he is Welsh. And besides, Flossy has been giving him some dodgy looks recently.

He ponders the matter for a few minutes, and decides that the frontal approach would be the most appropriate. So he goes round to the front of the house and goes and knocks on Mr Taff’s front door.

Eventually Mr Taff answers the door. ‘Hello Boyo. Yucky Da.’
(Authors note: I would like to point out at this stage that I am not attempting to portray Mr Taff in an overly stereotypical manner, but have you ever tried typing in a Welsh accent?)

‘Hello,’ says Mr White, ‘I’m Mr White from next door.’
‘Oh marvellous,’ says Mr Taff, ‘I’m Mr Taff. Do come in, my wife has been wanting to meet you.’
‘Oh, um, thank you, but I’m afraid I only popped round because one of my hens has laid an egg in your back garden, and I was wondering if I could pop through and get it please?’

Mr Taff seems to be a little taken aback by this rather tactless rebuttal of his gracious offer, and replies, simply ‘No.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Mr White. ‘I think you must have misunderstood.’
And he tries again speaking much slower.
‘One of my hens has laid an egg in your back garden can I come through and get it please.’
Mr Taff may be Welsh, but he’s not quite as thick as you’d think. He knows patronisation when he see’s it, so he gave no ground.

To cut a long story short, they argue about the ownership of said egg for several minutes. Eventually Mr White realises that they are not going to make any progress like this.

‘We’re not going to make any progress like this,’ says Mr White. ‘Why don’t we settle this the English way.’

‘OK,’ says Mr Taff. ‘What is the English way?’
‘We’ll have a contest,’ says Mr White.
‘I can go with that,’ says Mr Taff. ‘What drawing straws? Cutting the cards? Tiddly winks?’.
So they have another argument lasting several more minutes. Eventually Mr White persuades Mr Taff that traditionally, in this sort of situation, the contest used by Britons throughout history was the ball kicking contest. As Mr White explains to Mr Taff, ‘It goes like this. First I kick you in the bollocks, then you kick me in the bollocks. We then keep taking it in turns until one of us can’t stand. The person left standing keeps the egg.’

This is agreed. So they walk through the house and into the back garden. They move the egg to a safe location, and Mr White asks Mr Taff to stand where the egg was and brace himself.

‘Hang on,’ Says Mr Taff. ‘Who says you get the first kick?’
So they argue for several more minutes, and would have probably gone on for several more if Mr White had not pointed out to Mr Taff that on a technicality, as the egg was layed by one of his hens, even though the location of the laying was in fact Mr Taffs property, he was the aggrieved party and therefore the first kick should be his.

So Mr Taff braces himself. Feet apart, hands tightly gripping his hips, a look of grim determination on his face.

Mr White walks down the garden and opens the back door to the house. He walks through the house and opens the front door. He walks up the front garden path and opens the gate. He then pops back next door and puts on the biggest ball kicking boots that he can find. Huge, hobnail buggers. He then walks 100 yards up the road, stops and turns. He starts running down the road – faster and faster. Through the garden gate and up the garden path – faster and faster. Through the front door and through the house – faster and faster. Out the back door and up the back garden – faster and faster. And boots Mr Taff in the nads with one almighty kick. Needless to say, Mr Taff crumples like a sack full of rocks. He lies there on the floor writhing in agony, tears streaming from his eyes, pleading and crying to whatever Gods the Welsh follow, hand gingerly cradling his now throbbing plums. The minute tick past as Mr Taff slowly pulls himself together and slowly but surely (with an inordinate amount of care) drags himself to his feet. His knees are obviously still very wobbly, but with a look of almost insurmountable triumph turns to face Mr White.

‘OK,’ with his face twisting into a menacing, vengeful lear. ‘Now it’s my turn.’

‘No,’ said Mr White. ‘It’s all right mate, you can keep the egg.’

———-

BTW, if your Welsh, just insert your own stereotypical ethnic minority group.

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