Friday, 26 September 2008

Let them Eat Burnt Cake

I am doing my social duty this morning and going to one of those Macmillan Coffee morning things. This is normally something that I avoid like the plague since they seem to be dominated by small children, and parents talking about small children, however one of the book club asked me to come 'cos she is selling her fabulous cards there and wants moral support. I still put her through the wringer to get me to agree.

Only after she had sobbed, rended her hair and begged a lot did I wearily agree to attend my idea of rural hell. She recovered from her emotional breakdown remarkably quickly (I suspect I might have been conned by the best) and then casually mentioned that I would just have to make a cake and bring some money along. AAarrgh. The trap was sprung. I wriggled, I squealed, I said ouch a lot but there was no freeing me. I was stuck.

So I had a long day yesterday with an 8 hour meeting and 4 hours of driving. I can't really say I was in the mood to be a domestic goddess when I got home - more like a domestic slob who watched Bones on television and fell asleep on the sofa. However, I set to. I threw flour around the kitchen and broke eggs. I softened, I whisked, I folded. I lobbed the tin of coffee cake mix into the oven and I forgot that my oven thermostat has gone on permanent holiday.

I have one of those oven thermometers in the hope of dealing with this. When I put the cake in the oven, the needle was loitering on 180 which was ok but despite not touching a dial, the oven temperature steadily climbed. I tried turning it down, I left the door open, I shouted at it, all to no avail. By the time the cake was ready to come out, the oven was ready to melt glass.

The cake looks good - but then so do ceramic models of cake and this is very nearly one of those. I put a sander on the drill and sanded off the outer crust so that a knife could actually penetrate the damn thing and then smothered the remaining volcanic crust in icing.

Now I just have to transport the thing over 30 miles of moorland round and mountain lanes without it rolling towards me and breaking my leg and then I can have my revenge on my duplicious friend. Let them eat cake.....


katyboo1 said...

If you get really mad with the small kids you could always use your cake as a deadly weapon.

mia-oia said...

I watched Bones too. I KNEW Zack wasn't a killer. Very happy to have been proven right.

Welsh Girl said...

Mia-oia - I'm sorry to disillusion you but Zack was a homicidal maniacs assistant which is just as bad. Watch again.....

Katyboo - I don't mind the small children, I mind that nobody TALKS about anything except the small children. I quite like the miniature people most of the time and stuffed cake in their mouths if they were whingy leaving them with a sugar high that somebody else had to deal with. Perfect mornings work really.

mia-oia said...

oh I KNOW he was Gormegon's assistant but I'm just pleased that he didn't actually KILL anyone himself, as the idea of Zack stabbing someone through the heart seemed improbable to me......Will be interesting to see how Sweets resolves the patient/doctor confidentiality dilemma.

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