Pancake Day

why are small children such contrary characters? Last year for Pancake Day we made a big deal about it, producing a pile of delicious panakes. At which point Godzooky 1 decided that he didn't really want to have pancakes after all, leaving me and Mrs Zilla to munch our way through a small mountain of them. This year we checked with him whether he wanted pancakes, and a resounding "NO" cam eback at us. Fine, no problem, if he's not bothered then we'll forget about it. Monday evening he returns home announcing that they had pancakes at school and he wants them on Shrove Tuesday. Typical. Pancakes seem to fall into that area of man cooking that barbecues also seem to occupy, or at least in my experience. My childhood Shrove Tuesdays saw my father making the pancakes, tossing them with great abandon and no little amount of skill. Every Shrove Tuesday since leaving home, living with and then marrying Mrs Zilla has seen me perform the same duties. I can't ever recall an actual conversation taking place that I should do it, yet somehow each year I am the one flipping the pancakes. It's amazing how something so trivial as flipping a pancake can enthrall small children. Although, like my father before me, I subscribe to the school of pancake tossing that means a small, functional flip, is in no way acceptable. The flips should be extravagant and stylish - creating the gasps and laughter from small children, as only they can do. Thankfully I have yet to shatter their illusions by dropping a pancake on the floor, yet I know it's only a matter of time. Clearly my wrist action has been improved with my recent drought and the charade can be maintained for another year.