In ancient family tradition (or at least from my own childhood) we spent Eatser Sunday (or 'Eostar Sun Day' if you fancy) eating eggs, decoratings eggs and rolling eggs from a wonderful place nearby called Trefenter Hill. We were the only ones around for miles and with only the mildest of breezes, and the sun in the sky we watched circling Red Kites and rolled our eggs at least thirty times. What helped us out with this was the hillside being covered in springy moss and our eggs bouncing in a cloud like bed at the bottom rather than cracking open. Felix developed a fond attachment to the egg box and to his lattice worked, flakey eggs and decided to take them home. Hugging the box to him in manner of mother with small child. Yes our car did smell like rotten eggs on the way home.
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