I am the egg chef, boiled, scrambled, fried or poached, it’s no yoke I am master of them all. My wife shells out for the eggs I cook them, and they’re always all white. There’s only one I haven’t mastered, we had Mr Schwarzenegger round last week he wanted eggs Benedict, but I had to tell him, “I can’t do eggs Benedict Arnold.
Seriously I am good with eggs, even breakfast in general, but I’ve written what I’d really like to cook below, and I’ve put my best Miss world hat on to do it.

First a bit of Dylan “Listen to that fiddler play, when he’s playing to the break of day, oh me oh my going to love that country pie.”

A peace of pie.

If I could cook something, probably a pie, that would stop politicians being compulsed to lie. I’d buy the biggest oven that I could find and I’d cook and I’d cook until out of my mind.

Or if I could make food, that could cure all greed, then to feed off other people, there’d be no need.

Or, a food  that could be eaten, either cooked or raw, this food when consumed would put an end to all war. 

A desert then maybe a flan, to remove the wool from the eyes of my fellow man. A little bit of sugar sprinkled from above, a sweet that would fill the whole world with love.

Intro and verse by, Meadowhead Bard.