Pancake Day

Pancake Day, and a time to remember my mum with fondness.

She hated making pancakes, and it has been, periodically, a source of merriment, particularly for my sister and me, remembering what that day was like back in the past.

Let’s put it this way. We didn’t get many pancakes. The ones we got tended to be very holey. Or very dark. And yes, some of them did stick to the kitchen ceiling. She got quite flustered to be honest. But it’s fun remembering. It puts the Shrove in Tuesday.

This might not seem like a great way of honouring my mum’s memory. But I know for a fact that, when I’m gone, my own boys will undoubtedly recall and laugh about the way I manage to get all sorts of famous names wrong, usually in hilariously subtle ways. Hilarious to them anyway!

My mum, according to my dad, is in heaven, and I hope she’s having a laugh about it all herself now. And I will have a skeletal giggle (I won’t be in heaven…I’ll be getting tickled by worms) at the thought of my boys having a laugh at my expense.

It’s the way things should be.

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