Forty-six and two innards. Sixteen and two outards to do.
Today I made a right mess. Every time. Every bloomin time I tell myself it'll be easy to make a few biscuits then chuck some icing and sprinkles on them. Every time. This happens.
I doubt even the apologetic distribution of the final smarties from my Christmas tube can save this one.
I used to be able to blame my icing failings on the kids, but now one kid is nearly twenty-five and the other, who is twenty-one and conveniently wibbly with CP therefore really I *could* blame him, is reading LotR in his room and far too wise to get anywhere near the kitchen when there's icing sugar and his mother together. The rotter.
I think even the five year old these are for (and his mum: his mum loves dinosaurs and they both love Mary Anning) will be tepid in his appraisal. Bet they taste good though.
One more thing...
BREAK ALL THE RULES.