I met with an old mucker who I had last seen in the sandpit the first time we were there, back in '91. We are working in the same outfit now (again) and he was down my way for a warm up for a team outing. Anyway,knowing he was around there was only one thing to do - go out on the p1ss. We were doing the drills. Out wallet. Order 2-3. In wallet. In your own time" go on". Much bullshotting , then he mentioned the egg banjo. Food of the gods. Several pints, a short sleep and much farting later it is still in my mind. Now I am getting a bit gay in my old age. After checking Mrs bore for calibre in the morning I have eaten my occasional banjo on toasted brown bread with a knife and fork. This day, fired with the joys of Spring and eased springs, looked in the fridge and Mrs bore has provided free range eggs. Off I go on the banjo production to find I have dropped a double yolker in the pan. Chest out, stomach in, stand up straight and a proper egg banjo - Double Yolked at that ,with no poncing around with cutlery. Yellow dribble down the dressing gown and the dog licking yolk off my slippers. Makes you proud to have been a soldier. Whatever happened to the bread that had random days of the week on the wrapper ?