We were all in the kitchen last Tuesday, having a competition to see who could eat the most pancakes.

I was winning but that was probably because I was only having lemon juice on mine, whereas daughter was trying out a number of exotic combinations including powdered hot chocolate and strawberry jam with squirty cream and a mixture of golden syrup and ten spoonfuls of sugar.

This also made her pancakes about twenty times more filling than mine.

The child will never win a professional pancake-eating competition with an attitude like that.

Her Dad was too busy cooking them to eat any. He has to do this because he can triple flip them and impress everybody.

Besides, daughter and I decided long ago that pancake-making is a boy's job.

Eating them is a girl's job. The dog's job is to sit hopefully under the kitchen table, devouring any stray bits and looking with puppy eyes at daughter in the hopes of being slipped an entire one.

He obviously knows her very well.

"Don't give the dog any of your pancakes," I said. "You'll make him sick."

"I'm not," she said.

"Yes, you are," I said. "He's got caster sugar all over his ear."

"What are we doing for my birthday on Thursday?" asked daughter, changing the subject between mouthfuls.

Our original plans had been somewhat scuppered. I had bought two tickets to see the Popstars - The Rivals' concert at the Brighton Centre the night before her birthday. Unfortunately the tour was cancelled due to lack of interest.

Now she is having a joint disco with a friend later this month. This is taking place in a hired hall, rather than daughter's suggestion of holding it at home.

"I don't know. What would you like to do?" I asked.

She must be gaining some maturity with her fourteenth year as, in the end, she decided she was quite happy having a family night in as long as she could have her favourite dinner and sole control of the remote control.

"Don't give the dog any cake," I said to her as they snuggled up on the couch.

"I'm not," she answered.

"Yes, you are." I replied. "He's got pink icing sticking out of his ear."

"Oh," she said. "Good job it's my birthday then and you can't tell me off."