Lenzie, the town where Alan grew up and now lives with Alex, is about 15 minutes drive from Glasgow city centre, just far enough away from the hustle and bustle. Alex had had her hair curled at the hairdressers and was looking fit and healthy as normal without the golden suntan she wore at New Year. Our plan was to go out on the town but post-food fatigue fell upon us after eating far too many enchiladas and fajitas with all the trimmings. Alex, replicating her mother to a tee, attempted to fill us with more food, a cake of some kind, passion fruit and grapes, and after refusing to eat more a hundred times or so, Alex took the food back and herself and Al up to bed. Oh, I forgot, Alex is one of those people who is always busy somehow, so this time, before hitting the pillow, she made some flapjack and left it in my hands to turn the oven off after half an hour. I did, may be somewhat late, and the edges just a little black, gave the impression that the flapjack was baked inside too. Having thought I had burnt it, I proceeded to lift the flapjack from the oven tray to a plate so that it could cool down. Alex, sensing in her sleep that something was wrong, tiptoed, no that’s a lie, Alex is incapable of tiptoeing or doing anything quiet for that matter, like Alan pointed out on various occassions throughout the weekend. But yeah, Alex came downstairs to find me messing with her flapjack. She made me feel better by saying that she got her quantities all wrong. So we picked at it, it still tasted good, but was not sturdy enough to sell at her church the next day. So she binned it! All of it. Better that she did really otherwise I would have picked at it and eventually eaten it all up.