Cake matters to me. Cake matters to me like oxygen matters to you.
I am a cake snob. I like my cake. Made by my own fair hands, with no modern technology but an oven (and if I’m near Daddy’s range then so much the beter).
But there is one thing I cannot create, and THAT my dear, is a cake with a pony on it. My sugar craft skills do not stretch to a pony.
I never knew that ‘a-cake-with-a-pony-on-it’ was the most important material posession my life was lacking. Until I saw one.
Oxford has a pretty impressive cake shop in the Covered Market. Their crazily skilled ‘icers’ (I don’t know the name for a professional cake icer) sit in the window and create pieces of magnificence.
I’m sorry I can’t show you the whole cake, but it was completed by a lovely cute message from the man in my life, and the internet doesn’t need to see it. Gotta have boundaries and all that lark.
I have a cake with a pony on it. My life is complete