And you’re carrying those eggboxes because….?

I don’t know about you, but it’s the little things I’ll remember about 2020. As this year has gone on, I’ve cherished the many little acts of kindness, funny stories and frankly bonkers experiences which have characterised it for me.

Things seem to happen to me. I’ve always got a story, which is pretty handy when you’re a writer. Last weekend was a bit of a tough one. Lots of emotions resurfaced from some sad times a while ago, I wrote a blog for More Than Writers about some really heavy stuff and I felt tired, a bit down and generally pathetic. I had a FaceTime chat with three dear friends on Sunday evening and we were all feeling a bit sorry for ourselves. We agreed that this was understandable and tried to encourage and build each other up.

On Tuesday, I went into Woodbridge to meet up with the lovely Darrell who runs Archway Carpets. We had a hilarious, socially distanced lunch with lots of loud snorting, laughing and giggling. As we left, he handed me about fifty eggboxes. This would have come as a surprise to most people, but seemed perfectly normal to me. Our chickens lay beautiful green, blue and chocolate brown eggs and I frequently drop off half a dozen for Darrell and his family to enjoy. Hence the boxes.

“You’re not going anywhere else, are you?” he asked me, eyeing the armful of boxes with trepidation.

“Actually, I am,” I replied, standing up and hefting them into a comfortable holding position. “I thought I’d go to a well-known chain of High Street shops with an “M” in its name and buy some new jeans.”



Marching down the Thoroughfare (Woodbridge’s main street), I spotted a few people giving me odd looks. My appearance was unremarkable save for a fine new pair of boots and the said eggboxes. I arrived in M and Something, had a quick browse, chose the jeans and approached the cash desk. You know when you haven’t seen people for a while and you talk more quickly and in a higher pitch than usual? The two ladies in charge were a bit like that, in the middle of telling a funny story and deep in laughter. Under my mask, I had a broad grin on my face. I do love to hear laughter.

The transaction started going through, but the younger of the two ladies (Lucy. Hi Lucy) was staring at my eggboxes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve got to ask. Why on earth are you carrying so many eggboxes around with you?”

I told her I was collecting them to soundproof a studio. This was obviously made up, but she was already laughing so I changed horses in mid-stream and explained that Darrell loves my eggs. This finished her completely.

“He LOVES your EGGS! Ooh errr Missus!”

Doubled up in infectious laughter, she disappeared temporarily behind the cash desk while her colleague (Julie as I later found out. Hi Julie and welcome) burst into peals of laughter too. In retrospect, I suppose I could have chosen my words more wisely, but it was too late to backtrack. I explained that the eggs, technically, were not mine, but those of my hens. We carried on laughing and talking in high pitched voices for quite some time. Gosh, I’ve missed socialising. Pretty soon, they knew all about Big Words and Made Up Stories and the Diary of Isabella M Smugge (out in February people, keep an eye on my socials).

I was wondering what to write about this week, but as we filled the shop with shrieks of laughter, I realised that it could only be about one thing. A middle-aged woman in new, shiny boots walking into a shop with an M in its title holding loads of eggboxes. Julie gave me my own carrier bag to convey them back to the car. I left beaming from ear to ear (not that anyone could see through the mask). My friend Sue was in the queue behind me, also laughing (hi Sue), The other customers were gazing at me in that way that people do when they suspect that someone might have escaped from a secure facility.

Such little things can lift the spirits and engender a burst of healing, life-giving laughter. I’m chuckling now, just writing this. Here’s what Mark Twain had to say about it: “Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.”



Enjoy your week.

Images by Unsplash and Pixabay.

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in February 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.