The other day a friend gave us a gingerbread house kit. Flattered that she obviously thought I was some kind of domestic Blue Peter presenter type goddess, we ripped open the box with gusto and washed our hands with wetwipes, ready for our first foray into self builds.
On discovering that all there was in the box was the biscuit and a diagram of a duchess potato bag, I phoned my cake making friend just to confirm that we stuck it together with mashed potato? No, apparently icing sugar, which we didn’t have. But we did have melted chocolate, which doesn’t do the same thing. Neighbour to the rescue and a ton of icing sugar is thrown(literally) into the mix, so it now resembles “pooey toothpaste”
One helper down (“This is taking 100 years”), our journey to our very own Hansel and Gretel paradise went like this….
After an infinity of snapped doors ( “so Father Christmas doesn’t get stuck in the chimney”) We got the roof on ! Get us! Grand Designs, here we come!
Then the roof caves in and all hopes of meeting Kevin himself are dashed. Until, we have a brainwave and we build a guest wing complete with heating and lights. Smug.
Unfortunately, our pride is somewhat quashed by screams of ” You didn´t listen to Fireman Sam, did you? ” followed by pointy fingers ” No fire in small houses! ” he bellows, frantically blowing out the candles and tucking into the guest wing.