Let them eat cake

I suddenly find that I am returning to the factory tomorrow for my last week of the project. The short notice was a result of the sudden end of a long saga concerning the making of various sets of doors. These are intended to fit seamlessly into the enamel landscapes without so much as a wobble in the plough lines and their creation has been tense and complicated. For my part I have left door sized cardboard patterns at Wells with aligned drawings waiting to be transferred across, let's hope everyone's read the 'Do not throw away!!!' messages.

Short notice when you have two jobs means a fast bit of juggling and the calling in of favours along the lines of the Godfather. Fortunately, like most women, I worked through my son's infancy so have had the practice. The difficult bit is the cake issue. This is the last visit, ergo I must give everybody cake on the Thursday before I leave. I've learnt enough about factory life to know that milestone events are marked in simple carbohydrate and I have no intention of disrupting the pattern. The only answer is to pack up a kit like I used to for school domestic science, but on a big scale and bake on the island having first done the egg, flour, butter maths.

It's a bit of treat really: I like baking cakes, but don't do it often. The dispiriting problem is that my son finally confessed that he 'doesn't really like cake much' and there's no point being a domestic goddess when your audience consists of a confirmed atheist. In fact I now know that he used to sell my cake when he was at school (banana bread made the best profit at £1 a slice which seems extortionate since he wasn't providing a squashy leather sofa and caramel latte on the side). So now I will flex my baker's muscles and set off tomorrow with the cake tins and vanilla along with projector and templates.