The smell travelled up the old, red, worn carpeted staircase up into my room. Oh no, mum has remembered Pancake Day. Every year I'd managed not to mention it and every year she forgot it too.
I walked wearily down the stairs and in to the oak kitchen that we just had re modelled. It was my dad's pride and joy.
"Morning dear," Mum chirped cheerily. "Want some pancakes? I just need to flip them."
Oh no, this is going to be disastrous. Mum flipped the pancake up. It travelled up into the air: higher and higher, but, suddenly, dad dived into the room and shouted desperately "Not on the new floors!"
Mum neatly caught it in the pan and smirked at dad.