Having moved on from the Machiavellian plans of lounge domination courtesy of the imaginary Spuddy at my side, yesterday was a slightly gentler one. Of course there was work (always an absolute pleasure as you know) but I then had a bit of a 'throwback' afternoon.
Once upon a time, before I hit the dizzy heights of sales at Binland, I was a cake maker. I'm not talking about the odd sponge here and there for family consumption, but more of a seventy hour week of around two hundred drizzles, sponges and scones. The main part of my work was supplying shops, but every now and again, someone would approach me and ask me to make a special birthday cake. Over the years I created everything from 1970's Elvis (white cat-suit phase, complete with snarling lip and navel) to a pair of 36DD's encompassed in black lace.
These were for a man's birthday, and as I am not particularly well endowed in the bosom department, I had to guess what went where. I remember very clearly son number two, who would have been about eight at the time, asking me whether the cake was a pair of 'thingies', because if it was, then they didn't look right. Naturally I enquired as to how he would know if my 'thingies' were right or not. Turns out he was using mine as a comparison, so perhaps a couple of Bakewell tarts would have looked more authentic to him.
So when a lovely friend was telling me about a mutual friend's special birthday, I offered to make the birthday cake. There were various criteria to be met, one of which was a large body part. Now I can't give away as to what this was, but I did my best. The trouble was that I no longer have all the tools and gadgets which I had build up in my cake empire, so a lot of improvising took place yesterday afternoon. The first problem was the oversized body part - it kept dropping off, no matter how much water I used. In the end I had to resort to a piece of dry spaghetti pierced through to hold it place. Hopefully it will be removed before he's cut into...
The next problem was the hair. I know the person fairly well, but for the life of me couldn't remember if he was completely bald or not. Previous experience has told me that the cake's recipient is always rather pleased if the model has more hair than they actually have. Better that than the other way round I suppose. So my man is fairly hirsute - I'll have to take a sneaky look at him tomorrow just to check that I haven't got it completely wrong. I can always give him a quick number 3 if he needs it.
But the highlight of my day had to be when son number two returned from a particularly gruelling interview day. He is now gainfully employed in a cracking job, and I am extremely proud of him doing this having only left university less than two weeks ago.
It's a new start...