Pancake Day

I know I've written about this before, many moons ago, but it's apt, given the time of year, and a better thing to write about than the funeral, which of course is private, and this is probably the last thing I'll write about McDad for a while.

We had scoffed all the pancakes and disappeared to different rooms to avoid clearing up: four kids plus a foster-sibling at the time, most of us doing Big Exams and supposed to be revising, therefore excused from some household duties.
McDad was in the kitchen by himself scrubbing the sink with a little ratty plastic brush on a stick, not realising that I was in the living room listening, and struggling with my maths homework as always.
I could hear him scrubbing, humming, sighing, stopping... then I heard him musing distractedly.. about pancakes.
'A better bit of batter on a flatter platter', he said to himself,
and started scrubbing again with added vigour.