This coming weekend our oldest daughter Sarah, her husband Mikey, and their two younger offspring, Lucy and Guy, will be spending the weekend with us to attend our annual Agricultural Show on Saturday. Last week a good deal of discussion was going on as to whether the show would take place this year, as the meadow that acts as our showground was more or less awash. It was finally decided last weekend to go ahead with the show, but it will be a welly boots job. In view of our family (or part of it) weekending with us Ann has been baking like mad, mainly cakes, and this morning I took the above snap of her beaming approvingly at a Bakewell tart she had just removed from the oven.
Must close now as we're off to attend a lecture at our Town Hall on the history of Polstead - the village we walked round last week.
4 comments:
I wouldn't mind being a Bakewell if only Annie would beam approvingly at me... Trouble with me being a Bakewell is that I'd never resist the temptation of autolysis!
Tried to work that out.Do you mean that you would eat yourself?
That's exactly the look I display when examining Bakewell Tarts!
I understand that even bakewells frown upon autolysis but yoghurts do it all the time!
Who but a really hard-baked cookie could resist just a nibble of bakewell? I'd probably start with biting my nails,but I've no idea how far I'd go - probably stop at the elbows, it gets a tad awkward after that. But then the probability of my becoming a Bakewell is so slight even in our crazy corner of the omniverse that such temptation is unlikely to arise anywhere except in lurid nightmares... to sleep, perchance to dream....
Night night Mike, choirs of angel cakes sing thee to thy rest..
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