They Think It’s All Shrover…


…it is now. Any chance of moving again tonight, that is.

Yes, I’ve had my fill of pancakes this evening, far too many to mention. It’s a proud tradition in my family, the one time each year that we have them – we spend the other 364 days positively allergic to the blighters, wanting to throw up if we so much as casually glance at a Jif lemon in the supermarket. It takes that long to recover.

It’s not just Shrove Tuesday either, in terms of extreme gorge-fests. Christmas Day is characterised by having so much turkey and so many roast potatoes that it’s nigh-on impossible to waddle to the sofa afterwards. A fork-lift truck is usually on standby.

Thank heaven that these and other food-tastic celebrations are rare events, otherwise I’d be the size of a house. As it is, a bit of gleeful cross-trainer action tomorrow should just about sort me out. In the meantime, I feel sick and wish I hadn’t eaten so much.

But it was worth it. Fluffy pancakes with white chocolate sauce. Lovely. It is only once a year, after all.

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