Both Yorkshire and Northern Ireland have strong reputations for many things but, in my experience, neither are generally regarded as hotbeds of modern men.
So yesterday, in an attempt to change these damaging perceptions, half-Yorkshireman/half-Ulsterman Jamie and full-on Ulsterman me decided to do a bit of Sunday afternoon baking.
We didn't set the bar particularly high, I admit, in choosing Milky Bar Button Cakes as our recipe of choice. But, you know, we all have to start somewhere.
I began by "demonstrating" the art of...well...mixing up a...er...mixture...
...before allowing White Junior to take over.
And take over he did. In fact, he wouldn't even let me lick the bowl.
But, after jointly icing and decorating our cakes, Jamie did allow me the privilege of offering him the first one...
...although he wouldn't then let me try one myself. Fat pig.
And finally, just to make me feel bad and himself look good in front of his mum, he got on with a bit of washing.
On a separate issue, mouse number five - Peter - came to abrupt end at around 8 o'clock this morning. However, in a break with convention, I didn't take a photo of the death scene as I reckon you're probably as moused-out with the whole saga now as I am.
On the positive side, there were no further mousey remains waiting for me when I got home tonight, hopefully a sign that I've managed to hideously murder Jaws' entire family. This would clearly be excellent news for lots of reasons, one being that I'm almost out of peanut butter.
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