Only a few days ago i would have sworn upon oath that the task of transforming sundry basic kitchen ingredients into the finished article, namely a Victoria Sponge Cake, was a relatively simple one requiring only basic culinary skills.

However, the bright sunshine of sunday afternoon saw me toiling in vain with the mischievous afforementioned ingredients, all of which devoutly refused to act as my ancient cookbook faithfully promised, leaving me in a state of despair and disappointment.

Had you been present to witness my beloved creation being tenderly lifted from the oven, you would have asked yourself whether my intention had been to create a particularly large biscuit or a jam-filled frisbee.

I didn't follow King Alfred's example and burn the cake but it was nevertheless still crunchy in parts, exceedingly sweet and somewhat flatter in appearance than any sponge-cake that i'd ever yet beheld...a typically English heroic failure.

Notwithstanding this sad showing, the cake was perfectly edible although, to be fair, i could only give it an Mmm rating when i'd anticipated at least an Mmmmmmmm! I devoured half of it for sunday tea and took the remainder to work for monday's lunch, still not quite certain exactly where it'd all gone so horribly wrong.

I have been cruelly brought down a peg or two by this hamfisted experience and wince whenever i pass the bakers but hereby vow that my next creation will show a distinct improvement, just you mark my words.

Be afraid, Mr Kipling, be very afraid.

One Year Ago:

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