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Ants con't.

'There's an ant in my stew.'  My middle daughter said yesterday evening.  Funnily enought, she's always the one that gets the fish bone, the maggot in the mango - you name it.

'Nonsense,' I said firmly.

'Yes there is - look!' She insisted, proffering her fork.

'Let me have a look.' I said, studying said fork.  She was right; it was an ant.

While making my husband's birthday cake this morning (and the prize for wife of the year award goes to...!) I discovered to my dismay that the sugar ants have indeed now found my secret 'ant proof' hiding place on top of the microwave.  The softened butter was riddled with the menaces.  What is it about butter that they love so much.  Some had tiny wriggling back legs, head stuffed in the butter with no hope of getting out again.  A suicide mission! - and for now, curiously, they are leaving my sugar bowl well alone.

Tonight there may well be complaining comments about ants in the cake - but I'm willing to brazen it out..

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