I'd like to say we're religious in our house. But we're not. The boy does exceptionally well in his religious studies lessons, but I've noticed that often his essays are along the lines of 'God doesn't exist, because....' When he was half the size he is now, he used to enjoy visiting the odd church or two, but I think that's because when we're younger anything that's bright and shiny exerts an unreasonable interest.
Anyway, the great thing about Lent, is that it kicks off with pancakes. And we love pancakes. A great feast before the famine....I mean fast. I even have an electric pancake maker...it's like an inverted frying pan that you dip in the mix. It's been a firm favourite for the last fifteen years, being one of those catalogue purchases that should slot into the category of 'Why?'
However, in fact like many other years, Shrove Tuesday managed to come round a bit quicker than expected, so I was less than organised. The pancake maker is in Brighton and we're in Buckhurst Hill. And I'm not the sort of chef that can toss his pancakes with a frying pan. So I made an emergency stop at Waitrose last night. The only thing they had was oversized (i.e. about the size of a side plate) Scotch pancakes. Fortunately, that seemed to fit the bill...the boy was well and truly satisfied. And that's what counts. I guess.
And as it's now Lent (which I'm told is actually 47 days as Sundays don't count), I've given up tea and coffee for the duration. That's quite a sacrifice (although I do actually try and do it once a year just to appreciate them all the more when I start imbibing again). However, already the consequences have been devastating...so tired that when I was the only one in the office this afternoon, I grabbed some 400 winks. Extremely hopeful the boy might run around after me this evening in my stricken state, laying on the sofa, cook dinner and generally tend to my every need. Bets can be laid at William Hills.
