I couldn’t make it up the short but sharp hill and got off my bike. Next to my foot, where the pavement met the grass, was a golden easter egg. I stared at it for a moment, then nudged it with my shoe. It teetered for a moment, as if deciding what to do, and then began to roll down the slope, end over end. We stood watching it. It rolled slowly and we were waiting for it to stop.
But it didn’t stop, it kept rolling, then bounced down off the kerb and onto the road. The road curves under the railway overpass, and becomes a tunnel. Cars careen through it, and we were sure that the next car would squash our runaway golden egg. A car shot out of the end of the tunnel, but once it had passed we saw the egg had escaped the wheels and was still rolling. A minute of our lives had been spent watching the egg’s progress and the longer we watched, the harder it was to look away.
The egg eventually came to rest near the centre of the road, and we looked at each other, unsure what to do. One of us would have to go and pick it up, that much was for certain. I watched as Simon leaned his bike against the side of the tunnel and darted out to pick up the egg. We looked around for somewhere to put it, before deciding on a nook inside the tangled trunk of a nearby fig tree. We left it there, its gold foil winking in the sunlight.