Let Me Eat Cake

It’s a sad Sunday. No Premiership football because of the International matches.
How shit were England? I’m having a quid on Andorra on Wednesday, in fact I’d have a bet on my local pub side beating them at the moment.

I decided I wanted Fairy Cakes.
I didn’t really want the cakes I just wanted to lick the mixture out of the bowl.
Who else promised themselves as a kid, that when you had your own place you’d make up a bowl and just eat the mixture?
Who did and felt sick?
I was nauseous for ages the first time.
My sister always promised that she would have paper cups and plates, so she would never have to wash or dry up again.
Unfortunately, she got in touch with her inner chav and fell in love with the Argos Eternal Beaux range.
Fucking hideous stuff.
Maybe it’s just me, but I hate eating off hexagonal plates, especially if the pattern matches the toaster and the pedal bin.

The first thing that became apparent is that I have no idea what actually goes into a ‘fairy cake’. This is the kind of information Nan’s and some Mums know, as well as the weights for each ingredient.
Not ATM though.
A woman who hasn’t met a ‘ready’ meal or cake she hasn’t liked. She also has a deep relationship with anything pre cooked and frozen, like potatoes, parsnips and Yorkshire Puddings.
We thought Aunt Bessie and Betty Crocker were elderly relatives we didn’t see that often.
The second thing is that they are fucking labour intensive.

When I was a kid and took a turn at the ‘creaming’ butter and sugar stage, I thought my arm tired really quickly.
Had nothing to do with me being a kid.
My arm tired just as quickly. There are ‘cake’ muscles.
It would seem I’ve been putting these muscles to completely the wrong use all these years.

At last I have watched ‘Little Miss Sunshine’. Brilliant film!
Laughed out loud.
A lot.