Tuesday was Pancake Day here in the UK. Something about a tradition of making pancakes to use up things like eggs, flour and sugar which were the sort of thing that good Christians gave up for Lent. I'm not sure I know anyone anymore who gives up anything for Lent but everyone loves a good pancake, right?

I was astounded to learn that British pancakes are not the same as American ones (and honestly people, I think we're dragging this difference thing just a little too far. I mean, mustard is one thing, but pancakes? Really?). Turns out British pancakes are kind of thin and bubbly, more like crepes (and don't let's even get started on trying to compare British food with French), and served with lemon and sugar while American pancakes are more soft and squishy and served with butter and maple syrup. I nearly had the chance to try the British kind as we were meant to be having them here at the office that afternoon, but some nonsense about the hot-plate not working deterred me. Oddly enough, Dianne had Scotch pancakes at home that night which were really just like miniature versions of American ones, which she had with butter and jam. So perhaps what I was calling British pancakes are actually just English pancakes? But then, that's apparently how they have them in Wales as well. I am thoroughly confused. Besides, I've always preferred waffles anyway.

Have now given my landlady notice, so the countdown to being homeless is officially on. 37 days.