On the 18th of May I will be, ahem. . . . 40. Shopping with Madam Noir today I was quizzed about what I wanted for a birthday present. She seemed to think I needed something significant to mark the occasion. She was rather amused to discover what I really wanted was a Mad Men (Series 3) DVD and a knitted tea cosy! What can I say, I am a girl of simple tastes.
After some very restrained shopping I was craving tea, Victoria sponge and Inspector Morse. Although I am on an Aldi budget at the moment I decided to treat myself to an M&S cake. Sadly, when I got home and turned my back for a mere 30 seconds, Cyril (lurcher number 2) had ransacked my bag, snatched the Victoria sponge and had scoffed the lot from his den under the pear tree. I was devastated.
So, today I made my first ever Victoria sponge, complete with strawberry jam and buttercream thick enough to grout tiles with.
I didn't skimp on the buttercream, as you can see.
The finished article.
As is often the case though, after all that mixing and whipping, beating and slathering, when the cake was finished my craving had diminished and what I really wanted was something simple and savory: Lancashire Hotpot or Irish Stew. I shall take the cake to school tomorrow. I am sure it will be just the ballast I need to get through Pompous's tortuous, epic, after-school staff meeting.
I made a disappointing discovery about McFireman today. It is bad. Very bad. I asked him what kind of car he drives. Oh dear. A BMW. Why is it, I enquired, when BMWs are so expensive and futuristic, that they are made without indicators? They must be, cos every twat I see driving them smugly and arrogantly refuses to use to use them. I don't know why these BMW bounders look so cocky behind the wheel. After all, it does not bode well for their sexual technique does it, the fact that they are too lethargic to reach down and tweak that indicator lever? Not good. Not good at all.