Sacred blue, don't remind me. On waking (late) after my very first night in France the house was empty bar the housekeeper. Coffee appeared as if by magic and she asked if I wanted eggs. I refused gently three times asking for toast or croissant, but she insisted that, as I was english, then I had to have eggs for brekky. I refused again. Shortly thereafter an "oeuf-au-plate" arrived swirling arround with the movement of the plate. The yolk was completely raw and the white was still transparent. I thanked the old retainer and disposed of it in the chicken run as soon as her back was turned.