Let Me Eat Cake...

Sorry about the last two posts – as Which End Bites says, I sound as if I’ve had bad news. Let's not get downhearted! I’ll lighten up a bit.

Joy, oh joy when I enter a client's house to a gentle symphony of cooking smells, especially when it’s cold outside. I am quite happy to sit and discuss their project at the greatest length, wallowing in the heavy scented air, if there is baking going on.

My new client was a very tall and very beautiful woman, who had probably been a model in her youth. Although no longer young, she was still stunning, like a white version of Grace Jones - powerfully built, cropped blond hair and cheekbones you could stand a drink on. (No, I’m not gay). Amazingly and unusually for someone of her physique, she was a very good cook and an enthusiastic eater.

I was there with the builder, who sat slumped in the armchair, gazing at her rapturously and nodding slowly whenever she spoke to him. ‘Would you like some cake?’ she asked, standing up. She was wearing shorts, and I wished my legs were half as good as hers.

It was the stickiest of ginger cakes, laced with a liqueur, totally evil and no good for the waistline. Watching her tuck into a large slice of it, I could not understand why she wasn’t ten feet around the middle.

Every site meeting during the lengthy conversion of her outbuildings into an annex, there was some delicious morsel – scones, mince pies, fruit cake, shortbread….my weight started to increase and some of the builders were obviously finding work straight after the morning break difficult. They were almost always full of cake.

I found out, after several months, the lady was a kick boxer. When she was not doing that, she enjoyed cycle road racing. Although I was sorry when the work was finished, I doubt I would have been able to get into any of my clothes if it had gone on much longer. Oh, but the cakes... heaven.