Messy mystery of new development has to be cracked

I AM keen to know readers' recent experiences of eggs.

- Peter Mortimer

I suspect something is afoot and am determined to get to the root of it, even if I have to dig deep (all right - enough of foot, root and digging metaphors -Ed.).

OK. Here's the problem. Like your average bloke or woman, I am fond of eggs. The eggs can come poached, scrambled or fried. My son Dylan, who rarely ceases to amaze me, often swallows his breakfast eggs raw and often in multiple quantities. I've not quite graduated to that yet, but on many occasions I'll tackle a cooked brace at one time.

As the saying goes, one egg is simply not an oeuf - boom, boom!

No matter. Whenever I tackle an egg, I hold it with one hand and with the other gingerly tap the shell using a strong knife. Handling it carefully now allows a neat separation of the shell into two equal halves, out of which slides the egg itself, into the frying pan, the cup or whatever is the relevant receptacle. This release of the egg (the yoke still unbroken) is an underappreciated art form and practitioners are urged to perfect it through regular, well, practice.