AGAINST THE ODDS: The only other volunteer to turn up for the Shrove Tuesday celebration in Chisellers crèche would have to be Lugs O'Leary

AS FLIPPING time approached in Chisellers crèche at noon on Pancake Tuesday, there were only two volunteers in the kitchen, each a tad incongruous in their aprons.

One of them was Lugs O’Leary, the meanest critter in Dollymount. The other was Vinny Fitzpatrick whose ample girth indicated he would have no trouble putting away a pancake platter.

That only one parent, and one grandparent, had turned up to help with the Shrove Tuesday celebration in Chisellers had not gone down well with the Allgood spinsters, Sally and Sarah, who had run the nursery in Clontarf Park for donkey’s years.

They tut-tutted to one another about how folks were reneging on their responsibilities to engage with children on this pre-fasting day.

“It wouldn’t have happened in our day,” grumbled Sally Allgood, pencil-slim and short-sighted. “No, never,” objected Miss Sarah, her twin, as they flitted about the kitchen, putting the props in place.

Close by the non-stick frying pans lay mounds of flour, cartons of milk, trays of eggs and salt, while the kitchen table was groaning with sugar, lemons, syrup and chocolate spread for flavouring – to Vinny’s approval.

“Who have we got here?” asked Miss Sally peering at Lugs. “You must be related to little Leo. You have his ears. Or rather, he has yours.”

Lugs stiffened but bit his lip. Even in his mid-50s he was sensitive about the jug-like protrusions either side of his scarred scalp.

Turning to Vinny, Miss Sally continued. “And you are certainly Oisín’s father although I don’t know how you can claim Aoife as yours.”

Despite their clucking, the Allgoods were all right. And they were entitled to feel let down at the turn-out considering they had a dozen ankle-biters in their care.

“Right, let’s get cooking, shall we?” said Miss Sally. “Mix up the batter you two, get the pans on to a nice heat and get tossing. You know how to toss, I take it?”

Lugs bared a mouthful of broken teeth. “Yes, Miss Allgood. Me and Vincent here can toss for Ireland, don’t worry,” he growled.

Vinny could think of a right few tossers off the top of his head and Lugs was another, and as Vinny gripped the frying pan he knew what he’d like to do with it. “Why is it always Lugs and me?” he said to himself as he set about blending the batter.

Soon, stacks of wafer thin pancakes began to pile high on the kitchen table as Lugs and Vinny, despite their differences, worked well as a two ball.

It was almost time to serve, but first the children were allowed in to thank the chefs for their work. As the kids trooped in dutifully, Vinny felt a tear welling as Aoife, all doe-eyed and dark-haired, ran up to him and gave him a big squeeze, somewhere around his flabby knees. In contrast, Oisín was shy and awkward as he approached his father, hand outstretched. He was the spit of his old man with a plain face, atop a plump body and stubby legs.

As Vinny reached out to hug him, Leo O’Leary burst in at speed, barging Oisín to one side, as he jumped into the massive forearms of granddad, Lugs.

With his tight hair-cut, Leo’s stuck-out ears were like the handles on the FA Cup, thought Vinny as he patted Oisín’s large head and asked him how he would like his pancakes. “With lots of sugar, Daddy,” he said.

Soon, the dining room was a hubbub of happy faces gorging themselves on pancakes. Kids had chocolate on their noses, specks of sugar stuck to their finger-tips, and smiles all round as they munched away. The Allgoods looked on approvingly.

Back in the kitchen, Vinny was lashing the sugar and lemon on to the next batch of pancakes when he felt something hot sting the back of his fleshy neck.

Reaching around, he found it was a blob of pancake. There could only be one suspect: Lugs. Sure enough, the craggy giant was grinning as he held a wooden spoon in one hand and a bowl of batter in another. “Fitzpatrick, you got the stomach for it?”

Vinny grabbed a ladle and with a flick of his wrist, expertly flipped a splotch of yellowy batter onto Lugs’s lumpy nose. It was the cue for bedlam.

After his batch of batter ran out, Lugs grabbed an egg which he fired at Vinny’s crown. As Lugs guffawed, Vinny responded with a fistful of sugar into Lugs’s face which had the giant spluttering.

The kitchen resembled a scene from St Trinian’s, its walls were spattered with white and yellow, when the Allgoods burst in.

“What the dickens is going on?” said a horrified Miss Sally. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Get out you brute, get out,” she screamed at Lugs, while beating him around the shoulders with a wooden spoon.

“As for you Mr Pancake man,” shrilled Miss Sarah. “I want this kitchen spick and span. You’ve got 20 minutes to clean up this mess.”

With that the door was slammed shut, leaving Vinny amid the carnage. A part of him felt sorry for what had happened but he was also giggling inside. In truth, the rumpus had been great craic.

The kitchen resembled a bomb site, although not all of it. Vinny spied some batter mix left in a bowl and a jar of Nutella was untouched. If he was quick, he’d put away one, maybe two pancakes, before the Allgoods returned.

Instantly, he was on his feet, licking his fleshy lips in anticipation. His “Fat Tuesday” was about to get fatter.

Vinny's Bismarck

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