Easter egg hunts gone wrong

You'd think since chocolates from England are prized that this would be the country of wonderful Easter Egg Hunts.
At least that's what I expected.
I headed over to England thinking I could pick up whatever I needed to put on a "Grandma's Easter Egg Hunt" like Jack had never seen.
He'd never been in the United States at Eastertime so he'd missed out on my hunts which included dozens of colorful plastic eggs hidden all over in the nearby park — eggs filled with jelly beans, malted chocolate eggs, little Cadbury eggs, and sometimes, small prizes and promises of adventures with Grandma and Grandpa.
I was packing frugally so I didn't take any plastic eggs or candy with me.
I planned to buy what I needed in the United Kingdom.
The only problem was I didn't have free access to the stores and when I did, I wasn't sure what to buy. Was I getting a good price?
Was there better stuff elsewhere?
Where were the plastic eggs I needed?
At first I wasn't worried as it appeared that Jack would have lots of Easter candy. He already had a big hollow chocolate egg on the top of the TV just waiting to be opened.
I assumed his mom and dad would put on a hunt and I would just add to it.
I also figured there would be a neighborhood hunt in the nearby rolling hills.
I was wrong to assume such. England doesn't do city-wide hunts.
Then on nearly the last day my son asked his wife if they needed to buy Easter candy.
Helen looked at him and said, "No, your mom's taking care of that."
Gulp.
I started grabbing what I could see but this was a big, discount grocery store and there weren't a lot of options.
I ended up with a bag of smaller Cadbury eggs and then Derek found a bag of blue plastic eggs.
That was it.
I put an egg in each egg and hid all eight of them around the living room. I put a chocolate rabbit in a bowl that served as a basket.
Jack was thrilled despite the fact that there wasn't a lot of variety or color. He had nothing with which  to compare my meager hunt.
But then, he was also spared the pain of attending an American Easter Egg Hunt where once the whistle is blown, the field is cleared and most of the children are left crying.
Perhaps it's for the best.