Daughter decided to make pudding the other night to welcome Grandmother who was staying with us. She took ages to choose which one, and then eventually went for a Chocolate Swiss Roll.
Goody, we all thought. And left her to it.
From the kitchen came the sounds of cooking and pans being moved about.
We lit a fire in the sitting room. I sat back knowing that the casserole was in the oven, potatoes cooking nicely, and vegetables ready to go when needed.
Hooray!
Delicious smells from the kitchen. And not long later we all sit round the table.
And finally pudding arrives.
Proudly, Daughter places it in the middle of the table, next to the candles. We all stare at it, spellbound. It is beautiful. A chocolate swiss roll, all delicately powdered with icing sugar, cream gleaming from the carefully folded rolls of chocolate sponge.
Youngest stares at it too.
There is a short silence while he thinks.
And then he speaks. Oh, dear God, no...
'Now THAT is exactly the size of Middle Son's poo,' he announces finally, in triumphant tones.
For DAYS he has been trying to describe the size of said Son's poo, viewed with incredulity one morning before school in the downstairs loo.
There is an appalled silence.
And then chaos. I cannot keep in the bellyful of laughter, and heave great wheezing gasps of mirth. Daughter gives out peal after peal of giggles, which makes us all go off again. Middle Son is utterly appalled and then totally pole-axed with laughter. Mother in law goes pink, and then is off herself, giggling helplessly. Husband is seen bend double over his glass of wine. On close inspection he is crying with laughter and cannot sit upright.
And so it continued, for about 3 minutes of solid (do beg your pardon) laughter, until with hiccups and sighs and 'oh dears' we gradually stop.
Husband gallantly takes up knife to serve pudding.
'Right, who wants a piece.'
And we're off again.
Honestly, you really can't take us anywhere.
