“Sorry no porridge, we are out of aats, it’ll have to be cereal.”
‘OK, pancakes it is then’ called ordered to me from the shower (oh yes, every morning) which my girls (9&6) have transformed into a spa-like leisure activity – every soap/shampoo bottle they can find joins them as some kind of bizzare (to adult male) doll substitute lineup.
“Have you washed yet?” I say for the millionth time this life.
‘Not yet, I’ve been busy. You should have reminded me’
Somehow work doesn’t recognise ‘unanticipated short order chef duties’ as a valid reggie perrin-eque excuse, so it usually becomes “dead motorcylist/burning lorry/multi-car pile up on A3”, since no one in my immediate office travels that route to dispute it :wink: