Making mayonnaise

In more leisurely times I have whiled away hours making my own bread and pasta; In the past I have laboured over elaborate pies and pastries and diligently ground out pesto with a mortar and pestle.
Now my cooking tends to be of a speedier turn as it fits in between work and whatever needs done with the children.
The sole thing left in my domestic goddess repertoire is making mayonnaise.
I was reminded of this as our friends Jane, Simon, Hannah and Rosie came round for a spur of the moment barbecue after Drymen Agricultural Show on Saturday - we grilled mackerel and ate them with salad, potatoes and some mayonnaise which I whisked up on the hoof to much oohing and ahhing.
I hate to break the illusion but must confess that it isn't all in the technique. The amazing thing about having chickens is that you get absolutely spanking fresh, still warm eggs.  You can't possibly go wrong when you make mayonnaise with such an egg - you can forget all the drop by drop business and lob in the oil one handed while you whisk.  It is a quite different thing to using shop bought eggs.
Perhaps I should have kept quiet and pretended I was superwoman. . .but then Jane has known me since we were both on maternity leave and baking our way through Nigella books while obsessing about the quality of vanilla extract and where to get colour paste. 
The beautiful chalky white egg held by Rosie was laid by our most hansome chicken, a black majorcan whose eyes are dark and not at all mad chickeny orange like the others.