That's Why Twins Go to Iceland!

All the brood were back from sleepovers, work experience and leaving home in a fit of pique ( due to five minutes of " noone understands me" rage- and that was me!) - so we were all at home together.  I had decided that the best thing to cure all woes was a roast dinner.  Well, that's what us English/Irish/Jewish/Scottish/French/Russian/Romany people do (sorry if I have missed out any of you but that's as far as my family bloodline stretches)! So I began to create a gastronomic dinner that would make any male Celt, Hebrew,Slavic or Traveler proud.  Basically lots of food!
Things were going so well.
Things were going to change.
"Mum, is it ready yet?"
I was living the dream. "Yes, soon, twenty minutes,". And for once in along time, it was just going to be me and my boys, alone. A time, that I thought, I could discuss their fears about school and life without interruption.  Everything was just peachy.  Vegetables were "al dente", two "chooks" were glazing gently and potatoes and parsnips were crisping.  Could life get any better?  All boys were slouched in front of the television without argument.
I laid the table (yes, I should have asked them to help but I was basking in the peace) ).  I announced that it was ready and began to serve.
They took their seats in anticipation.  Hot steam billowed from the freshly cooked food as I piled the vegetables onto their plates.  From under the mist of vapour, their faces were lit by smiles of:: " She's managed it- by Jove she's done  it!"
  Everything was an apparent gargantuan feast and they leaned forward over their platters, salivating. That was until I carved.
The first slice, well chunk, went to the eldest as he apparently was "starving". I did think at that time "starving" you really don't appreciate the concept, but had put in place where he was going after his final exams to live the real meaning of the word.  However, I continued to slice.  That was when the problem arose.  The aroma on the right breast was rancid and I threw down my carving tools and leapt towards my elder son's cutlery as he elevated them towards his mouth.
 "No!", I screamed. " Drop it now!" .
He hesitated as the fork of meat hovered near his mouth.  " I haven't taken that much, Mum! Why do you always think I have more than the others?" At this point I was wrestling the fork from his hand in a to and fro motion but out of the corner of my eye my seven year old was poised to pick out the onion from the diseased carcass's arse.  Now I had a dilemma!  I grabbed my eldest's  fork, sending cooked flesh over the table and dived to prevent my youngest from feasting on potential salmonella delight!
 The twins remained motionless.
But I had a battle on my hands.  Unable to articulate the potential threat,I was scooting around the table with a  tray of roast bird and potatoes to keep
them out of reach of my eldest and youngest who were chasing after me.
Meanwhile, the twins had left the melee and had entered the kitchen, quietly and unassumingly, and found, in the freezer, a frozen food delight.  They had turned on the oven, sat back to watch the sports highlights on the laptop, leaving the rest of their family to chase around the dining room in a frenzy, whilst they waited for their meal to be defrosted and cooked.
And that is why...Twins go to Iceland!

I hope this was published in August but I have a sneaky suspicion in my race around the table it was not! Apologies!