Of course, there is a problem with children who make cake. Picture the scene at quarter past seven this morning. I’m lying in my warm and comfortable bed, thinking about how I ought, maybe, to be getting up…
Big Girl, bursting into my bedroom: There is no butter! I need butter!
Me: Why is there no butter? I know that yesterday there was butter.
BG: I don’t know! It wasn’t me! But approximately the time that I was making cakes, and piping icing onto everything in the world, the butter fairies came and stole the butter. I don’t understand! It wasn’t me! Why is there no butter? Go and get me butter right now!
Me: No. My bed is warm.
BG: OMG, why are you such a bad mother?
Me: I think there might be some lard left over from the war…