No wonder I’m a perfectly rubbish cake maker. I just chuck everything in and hope for the best.
Ask the family. My disasters are real and manifest.
My father once threw a cake of mine out of the window for the birds and then apologised. TO THE BIRDS! True.
P.S. I’ve hurt my back being stupid and independent and incapable of asking for help. So – I’m just sat sitting on the sofa spouting Shakespeare.
Once more unto the Breach etc
Uncontrolled Historian 