Three young boys up the lane are selling their eggs, and arrive on their bikes in a flurry of gravel to deliver them. It's a charming event because they are rightfully proud of the dozen eggs they've collected, and glad to collect their pounds sterling (the eldest is the banker). The youngest usually has a story bubbling between two missing front teeth, but he never quite finishes as he races to catch up to his two longer-legged brothers, heading toward their next adventure.
George Orwell liked to collect eggs, too, but mainly because he and his wife did not have much else to eat. He doesn't complain about that, but he leaves a record of the natural things he saw and delighted in and 'a visceral portrait of London during World War II' in his diaries, which have just been published.
Some of his diaries are missing. Those stolen from him in Spain may be in a KGB vault in Moscow, which was a malign agent during Spain's Civil War.