I’m proud to announce the I was awarded the OBE this very morning, One Boiled Egg, presented to me by my loving wife Philomena, I enjoyed it very much, thank you my dear. 
Speaking of eggs brings me back memories.
There is an expression that was used by my family in the old days but very seldom if ever nowadays, it goes back to world war 1, nothing fancy and what it implies (in my family) is that the person saying it want’s to have serious words with you, the Americans have a nice way of getting the same message across, “We have to talk”.
We say “Come in for your egg”, and when a parent, grandparent, uncle, or aunt said that to you it meant you were in for serious words or worse.
I’m sure most families have expressions that only they understand.
I’ve always been curious about old sayings and their origins so as a boy I asked my dear old grandmother where this particular expression came from, she used it a lot but always with a smile on her face, I had never heard anyone outside the family clan use it.
She told me that when she was a young married woman during the first world war she lived in a tenement room in town, eggs were very scarce and almost impossible to get in Dublin, especially for poor tenement folk, the old bread and dripping days. 
Her two kids at that time would be out kicking football on the street with all the other kids, come tea time a Mrs Dixon who lived in the same building would stick her head out the top window and in the best possible posh voice she could muster shout out to her beloved son while at the same time making sure everyone heard: “Ronald, come in for your egg!”
Seemed Mrs Dixon had a sister who married a country farmer who had eggs to burn, she used to send them up to her sister every week. God help poor Ronald, the slagging he had to endure from the other kids was unbelievable. I think every street has a Mrs Dixon even to this day, oneupmanship will never die.
Once when I was a lad at the local cinema and “Wuthering Heights” was showing, when Heathcliff called out on the moors “Cathy, Cathy…” several voices in the audience of kids roared out “Come in for yer egg!”
I knew then that some of my cousins were responsible for the outburst. 
what’s a Scribbler got to do? 
