There is nothing quite like the sensation of eating a flamingo - the crunchy sugar and buttercream upon your tongue before you bite into the sponge body is just divine. I quite surprised myself. I know I posted a picture yesterday but here it is again just so you have the tune AND the lyrics so to speak- if only I could post Tasteblogs.
I am trying to bake a cake that has less vesuvian qualities. I think my main culprit is oven temperature. It's too hot so the outside cooks too quickly leaving the inside to rise leisurely (like the Student son) and it overdoes it producing a big tit of a cake when I want a Kiera Knightly. The only way to work this out is to keep experimenting, surreptitiously. If Mr Smith finds me wasting time, ingredients and electricity I'll be in terrible trouble. I am not supposed to be baking cakes or eating cakes. I haven't yet told him I have signed up for a confectionery course. I'm sure he'll realise as soon as he gets stuck to the kitchen worktop.
My friend Gwen from Chicago is going to become a hotel manager. Go Gwen go. Rather her than me! I am going to become a difficult guest - much more fun.
Welcome little Miss Beckham. I know Half Past Seven is a bit of an odd name but you didn't actually expect them to call you Sarah did you?
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