PANCAKE DAY
When you’ve been good all winter, it’s time to let your hair down, isn’t it?
It’s Pancake Day on Tuesday week! Let’s celebrate! It’d be a shame not to keep up the tradition just because we’re trying to lose weight. We have the kitchen facility here so we can cook.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth an unnatural silence descends upon the village hall. The other people sitting in a circle on plastic chairs stare at me, mouths open in amazement, like I’ve just suggested we trash the place.
“Have you forgotten we’re the Tum Trimmers group?” snaps Eve.
“No, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that everyone needs to let their hair down now and then and Shrove Tuesday looks like a good time to do just that after the winter. We’ve stuck with our diets pretty strictly so perhaps it’s time to lighten up a tiny bit just for once!”
“But pancakes!” John’s face crinkles with disgust as he mouths the forbidden word, “If we’re not careful we’ll be out of control. Before you know it, we’ll be tucking into chocolate at Easter.”
“Not necessarily.” I try not to laugh. “I mean, who knows? We might have put ourselves off anything sweet for the rest of our lives!”
Only Richard who’s sitting directly opposite me, has the slightest hint of merriment lingering about his blue eyes.
“We could make slimmers’ pancakes,” he suggests bravely.
“And what on earth do they consist of?” Emily asks crossly.
“There’s bound to be a recipe on the internet,” I assure her in the kind of voice I’d normally use to a truculent two-year-old.
“Very well,I’ll do some research,” Emily says weakly, before adding, “But
I don’t hold out much hope.”
The meeting over, we members of the Tum Trimmers group go our separate ways. Richard catches up with me and we walk together.
“You’re a real stirrer,” he says cheerfully. “Only you would make such a crazy suggestion to a group of religiously careful eaters!”
“Between you and me,” I confide, “I’m afraid we’re all getting a bit obsessed with losing weight. You and I have both lost a good bit, but I reckon we’re not taking this thing as deadly seriously as the others.”
Richard tuts. “In that case,” he says, “Why don’t you let me take you for a drink now. One won’t hurt will it?”
“No thanks Rich. Pancake Day yes, but I don’t want to fall off the rails too soon, so I’ll give your offer a miss.”
“Please yourself.” Good-natured as ever, Richard wanders off in the direction of his home and for a moment or two I regret turning down his offer. He and I were at the same school when we were young and we’ve remained good friends even through both our marriages and divorces.
When our group meets a week later the outlook seems more relaxed on the subject of Shrove Tuesday.
“I’ve found a pancake recipe using light ingredients,” exclaims Cindy “We should be able to get away with it.”
I resist the urge to comment that “getting away with it” gives the event criminal undertones.
“There’s another pancake recipe I have here that my wife looked up using only baking powder and eggs,” says John sounding pleased with himself.
“I have a frying pan I hardly ever use these days, so I’ll bring that along,” offers Eve who no longer comes over as Ms Angry.
“It’ll be a challenge having pancakes without putting on a single ounce.” Cindy’s excited at the prospect of eating what might look like forbidden food without adding anything to her weight.
Pancake Day arrives and the Village Hall is buzzing with activity. A large trestle table is dragged out of a cupboard and assembled. Pretty tablecloths and vases of primroses are put in place. Spoons, forks and bright paper napkins are assembled and jugs are filled with water as the approved beverage. Chairs are placed in position ready for the feast. Several people bring frying pans to use on the kitchen hob’s numerous rings.
“We can call this our Pancake Day Challenge,” says John brandishing his camera. “I’ll take as many photos as I can for the village magazine.”
“Make sure everyone knows it’s a slimming event,” Eve insists. “We don’t want people thinking we’re gluttons, now do we?”
I try not to make it obvious that I’m making an ordinary pancake with flour, eggs and milk and I notice Richard’s doing the same.
“Syrup?” he says as the others bite timidly into their brave new batters.
“Thank you,” I smile as John covers my pancake in golden goo. “The others are so focussed on being careful, no one’s noticing us letting our hair down, so how about that drink after this?”
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