Project Spectrum

I was looking at the blog of my friend Mrs Pao a couple of weeks ago and she mentioned something called ProjectSpectrum.  And being a nosy person I had a look at it.

ProjectSpectrum  is an online creative project.  Each month from May to November has been given a colour and participants are invited to do something creative relating to the colour of the month and to post a photo of it online. So, as I seem to have a bit of time on my hands at the moment and in the interests of optimism (never know where these things might lead) and becoming myself again (hopefully that is a good idea) I thought I would give it a go. 

Being a technology challenged person (although I am improving - note the optimism) I found it a little difficult to follow what exactly it was I should be doing with regard to signing up and posting my creative attempts.  But I decided a little thing like that wouldn't stop me because by the time I had something creative to post I might well have worked out what to do.

May was red.  As I came to it late, there only being two weeks of May left, I decided on photography as a creative subject and went out a couple of afternoons in Canterbury and Maidstone photographing things red - as artistically as I could manage.

I had a lovely time.  I wandered around Canterbury with my camera and noticed all sorts of things I probably wouldn't have noticed otherwise.  I even went into a couple of shops and asked if I could photograph some of their red items for an art project I was doing (that made me feel very, very arty).  And - I found a missing postbox!  Well, actually, I am probably the only one who thought it was missing.   At the bottom of Station Road West there used to be a double postbox.  A couple of years ago, for some annoying reason, it was removed which miffed me no end as I used to use it regularly.  And thanks to Project Spectrum I found out where it was put.  It now resides at the entrance of the car park half way up Station Road West.  I have walked up that road, past that car park and thus straight past the postbox at least twice a month for the last eighteen months - and I never noticed it.  And I  would probably have carried on walking past it twice a month for however long if I hadn't been out looking for objects red. 

It will come as no surprise to anyone that a lot of my red based photographs relate to food.  I didn't realise how many food wrappers are red and quite how many signs are red either.

Here are a few of the photographs I took in Canterbury and an afternoon I spent in  Maidstone visiting PR for lunch

Not overly artistically taken I know but if you had asked me - I would have said the ASK sign was green.  Observation skills - nil points.  Anyway their pizza's are nice and I love their profiteroles because they have ice-cream inside instead of cream.

Not sure if I wish I could wear shoes like this  or not hmmmm...

And here comes the food...........

This didn't come out quite how I wanted.  The top right hand corner was supposed to show more stall so that it looked like a hill of cherries.  By the time I had examined the photo and decided to go back for another shot someone had bought a whole wodge of cherries and the whole display had changed - some people are so inconsiderate - couldn't they see art was taking place here....... 

and some flowers

I feel these should have  a title but I don't know what to call them other than 'red flowers in cellophane'.  Umm creative title brain cell needs a little work then.

And some good advice, where would we be without the good advice

 

AND



Ok, so my photographs were more observational than artistic but it was a nice thing to do and that can't be bad.  I think it would be a nice project to give the kids over the school holidays as well as I found an awful lot of red just around the house - it will keep  them occupied for a while and it's cheap.  

By the end of May I still hadn't quite worked out if I had to do something to actually join this project or where to properly post my creative redness but as face book was one of the  posting options I posted a photo there.  I hadn't ever posted a photo to face book before (I have enough trouble commenting) so it doesn't have a caption because I wasn't sure what to do. But now I know.  This interweb business is a great learning curve.   Also nobody has got back to me saying 'you can't do that, you're not a member' so I am assuming   what I have done is alright and  am moving on to June.  Which is green.  Watch this space.

Therapy

A better day today. 

Still coughing, sneezing, wheezy and sleepless but better in myself. 

I had an appointment to go to this morning and afterwards, because it was such a lovely day, I went into town for  a while.

Tesco's were selling small boxes of Maltesers for Father's Day.  So I bought one. 

Then I came back and gave myself some therapy.

As my Dad doesn't like Maltesers I ate them, with my feet up on the sofa watching the Queen documentary I had recorded  last night - Queen the band not Queen Her Maj that is  'Queen the Days of our lives' followed by Timothy Olyphant in Justified.  I had a lovely time.  A bit sad when Freddie Mercury died but apart from that a very therapeutic couple of hours.  Almost as good as retail therapy.

I had intended to go for a walk and take pictures today but I forgot my camera so here are some I took last month in an attempt to improve my photography.  For LP who wanted more photos.

I just love Magnolia trees and am lucky enough to have quite a few around me.  I liked the shape of this one. 

I then followed the path along an alleyway and saw this

A post bike.  No sign of the postie.  What  a funny place to leave a post bike, thought I, as though abandoned, in a long, long alley.  There were a few houses the other side of the wall but with their back gardens against the wall with no access that I could see.  It was gone when I came back.  Hopefully collected by it's postie. 

Ok so I'm not in any way condoning graffiti - but - it was a bit dark in places along the alley and this was quite a nice splash of colour.  I like colour.  I don't much like graffiti though.  I just liked an aspect of this one.  But I am not condoning it.  OK. 

This is an attempt to be 'artisitc'.  It is an abandoned building (a lot of abandonment going on in this alley) no roof, no glass, no window panes just holes against the sky through which new green growth can be seen.  I'm not entirely sure it has worked.  This might be the zenith of my artistic aspirations but I expect I will keep on trying to be the new David Bailey for a while longer. 

Magnolia blossoms. 

The next two photos are from the little park I like to go and sit in sometimes

When I learn how to crop photos I will take the top of this one off because I think it will have a better effect.

And that is the end of today's photographic experience.

I miss film.  I miss having photographs to hold in my hands.  But I have more space because there are no albums and boxes taking up space.

Off for more therapy now.  NCIS - I'm so cultured!!

An exercise in optimism

I have been rather poorly over the past few days.   A nasty summer cold caught me unawares and it spent 1 day running 30 million razor blades up and down my throat  followed by  3 days stomping through my sinuses, jumping up and down in my head, kick boxing my back, twisting  every joint in my body and streaming liquid excessively from every facial orifice.

With the exhaustion that has come from the fight the good antibodies are putting up inside my body against the invading germy ones - a fight they don't seem to be winning as the germs have migrated to my chest -  and the sleeplessness resulting from my spending most of last night awake listening to the symphony of wheezing in my chest, has come the opportunity for the evil seed of self pity to worm it's way out of the 'sorry for me' place I usually try to keep it locked in.

The spectre of worry and anxiety over the last couple of weeks (failed interview, rent increase, lack of money, Panorama programme, worries over the health of family members, my health, missing my niece, a few other things it's best not go into) has loomed large over me this morning.  And so I cried.  Much.   I saw the leaflet about homelessness  I picked up at the Cathedral Gardens as an omen and fretted myself into a cardboard box under a bridge with all that was left of my belongings in a plastic bag in no time at all.  So I cried some more.  Crying while coughing and sneezing is a very wet occupation and so on my way to the bathroom to get a loo roll to use as tissues, as it felt as though this could go on for some while, it occurred to  me that a nice shower and washing my hair might cheer me up and help  me focus on the positive and thus optimistic side of life.  Water of any sort -  drinking it, seeing it, washing in it usually makes me feel  better. 

So I stepped into the shower, still crying but there you go.  Firstly I dropped my shampoo onto the shelf as I was picking it up.  It fell off the shelf, knocking over the conditioner on the way.  Both fell into a bowl of pot pouri the contents of which ended up all over the bathroom floor.  After my shower I banged my head on the bathroom wall picking up the pot pouri.  I knocked my cleanser into the sink.  I dropped my cotton wool onto the floor.  The towel fell off the towel rail while I was nowhere near it.

A strong desire for chocolate was rising in my emotional centre. 

But, not having any, I thought breakfast would be the next best thing.  So I headed for the kitchen where I walked into a pile of plastic storage containers I keep on a shelf by the radio.  This has been their  home for about six of the eight years I have lived here so I know where they are.  Therefore my conclusion is they moved in order to be knocked over by me thus adding to my stresses.  Psychotic storage boxes I do not need.

My last glass of fruit juice either had suicidal tendencies or it wanted me to suffer as it threw itself all over the table as I reached for it.  I need the sugar damn it - I have no chocolate!!!

I reached into the larder for a teapig (green tea with mint - recommended) and two packets of pasta - from the shelf above!!- threw themselves onto the floor.  They want me to bang my head again as I bend down to  pick them up.  Well it won't work.  They can stay there.

The handle has just come off one of my two favourite big teacups and I can't get the cutlery draw open to get a teaspoon and I don't know why.

On my way into the bedroom the skirting board came out and kicked my toes and the edge of the door bit my arm.  Right there, where that  big green bruise now is.

So here I sit, in my bedroom with my teapig, scared to move  for fear of my surroundings or my body attacking me further while I try to keep the advancing pity party at bay.

I am talking to myself severely.  I am telling myself I will get a job, I won't lose my home and if I do have to leave this one it could  be to a better one, I will have money again and Mr Right will come along and I will know he is Mr Right.  BUT I AM NOT LISTENING.  My world at this moment is dark, vengeful and very, very sad.

However, the glimmer of optimism that  still flickers somewhere deep inside me and valiantly battles the pessimistic self  just made a massive effort, it flamed bright and reminded me that a walk would probably do me some good.  But then, I thought that about the shower and hair and quite frankly I don't want to fall flat on my face in the street because my feet let me down or the pavement took against me. That's happened before, on more than one occasion and it's not funny.

But remembering my recent  walks with my camera I wondered if just looking at the photos I took would have the same effect as actually going for a walk.  You know, like a meditation.  Imagine it well enough and your body actually thinks you have spent time on a sandy beach by the sea and relaxes because it thinks it's had a holiday.  I have had some success  doing this in the past and although it is preferable to have the actual holiday  sometimes needs must.  It doesn't work with chocolate though.  Imagining a soft, silky bar of Galaxy melting in my mouth and gliding it's way sensuously  through my body only makes the desire worse.  My body is well aware it is being deprived of it's emotional crutch.

So, I will give it a go.  And as I have probably tipped you over the precipice of lowness by now I will share my photos with you to cheer you up.

Pink is the colour of healing

Yellow is the colour of hope

Apple blossom time

Joyful colours

This has helped.  These are just a few of the photos I have taken.  I will show you some more later on.  Right now I feel strong enough to brave the kitchen for another teapig and to see if the bag I took out of the freezer last night is butternut squash soup - hopefully - or  - possibly - orange and mango juice.  I really must start to label things.  I am running the freezer down so that I can defrost it so I am eating some rather strange combinations at the moment.  Sadly there is no chocolate.  And although I feel better in myself I am not going to tempt fate by going out into the world to get any. Oh for an ice-cream van to appear.  In fact not moving very much seems to be suiting me very well so I might take my soup, or juice, and watch a DVD.  I know it is daytime and I vowed I would never do that while I am off work but I think today is an exception.

And as Scarlet O'Hara once said 'tomorrow is another day'.  And in the spirit of optimism, hopefully it will be a better day.

Domestic Goddess in Training - a tale of three cakes - the cake that fell

 Sad cake.

Sad, sad cake.

No photo of sad cake.  Too upset.

Firstly the electric whisk died just as I  started to cream the butter and sugar together.  I had to finish it by hand.  With a wooden spoon.  Hard work.

Then I burnt my thumb taking the cake out of the oven.

So I dropped it on the floor.  The cake, not my thumb.  That was in my mouth.

The top sank.  Considerably.

After putting ice and lavender oil  on my thumb (ice for pain, lavender to stop blister appearing - it works) I prepared the  butter cream icing.  Too much cream cheese fell into the mixture (which I had to cream by hand, with a wooden spoon as the whisk was still dead) so I had to add more icing sugar and butter.  And more -  until it tasted better.

Then I carefully cut the cake in half.

But not carefully enough as I still ended up with  quite a huge hole in the top layer, where it had sunk.  Spatial awareness nil points.  Slicing skills minus nil points.

At this point a resourceful person would have filled the cake, hole and all, with lashings of cream, fresh fruit and a sparkly candle.

Not me.

This is what I did.

I cut a bit out of the middle of the bottom layer and put it on the top. To fill the hole.  I then filled the hole in the bottom with masses of butter cream (I now had masses because of the extra cream cheese, icing and butter).  Because the top now had soft(ish) cake on it instead of the crispy cake top bit, when I butter creamed it the cake sort of started to disintegrate into the butter cream and there were cake crumbs on the top and all round the sides.  Messy.

Then I iced it.  And again stuck little melon baller discs on it.  In pink.  Pink food colouring painted on with a pastry brush.  Sigh.

The cake needed to be transported. 

So I turned the cake tin upside down.  Put butter cream on the inside of the lid which was now the base.  Put the cake onto the butter cream.  Put what was formerly the big bottom bit  of tin on top and sellotaped both together.  Safely anchored I put it  into my eco-friendly cloth bag ready for transportation.

The cakes journey.  Twenty minute walk to bus station, crossing two main roads and three minor ones and via a subway.  Five minute bus ride to Station Road.  Five minute walk to rail station.  Twenty minute train journey.  Five minute walk to bus stop.  Ten minute wait for bus in very warm sunshine.  Twenty minute bus ride. Ten minute walk to my parents house.

The cake did not survive this journey intact.

Despite my best efforts to keep it upright it had slid off it's butter cream base and was squashed against the side of the tin.  It was now a semi-circle.  Some of the pink discs had moved - quite a way in fact - leaving a trail of pink food colouring behind them - like a snail.

And my Mum loved her small tier red velvet birthday cake.  She ate it - even though I thought it was a bit stodgy (probably because it wasn't mixed enough!).  She said it tasted lovely.  My Dad had a slice (minus icing), I had a slice, my nephew had a slice and my Mum ate the rest.  It took her a week.  She said she really enjoyed it.

My Mum. xxxxxxoxxxxxxxx

Nostalgia not being what it used to be................

Since I mentioned school dinners during the Piccalilli episode (haven't eaten cauliflower for some time now) I have been in nostalgia mode.


This particular bit of nostalgia came about because I was musing on my usual occupation which is how to make a living for myself and still stay sane and happy.  One of the ideas in my book of ideas is to have a soup stall in the high street during the winter. I love love love making soup and it nearly always goes right.  So I thought a stall selling 3 or 4 different kinds of warming, natural, healthy homemade soup

with a variety of homemade breads

(ok the bread still needs a bit of work

but I'm getting there)

would be a lovely way to earn a living.  

Of course the fact I don't have a kitchen that would make a health and safety inspector smile (being as it is over 30 yrs old and the landlord refuses to do anything about it and don't start me on the landlord!!) might be an issue.  But it is not unsolvable if I could find an alternative venue in which to cook.  But there is another issue - I don't drive.  So I need a business partner.  One who can drive.  And this is proving to be a bit of a difficult one.  Still you never know - maybe....out there somewhere.....

Then of course what would I do with the stall in the summer. But I am sure I can come up with a summer  idea (in fact I have one bubbling away) so don't anyone go and steal it.  The soup idea that is, I haven't told you the summer idea and without it you can't do anything.

And so one thought led to another, as it does, and my mind drifted back to my childhood and teenage years living in 'the village'. 


My parents move to Kent when I was eleven involved taking us away from a nomadic life of living in a series of small Surrey and Sussex towns with amenities like buses, libraries, people, parks, shops, guides, brownies, decent schools and cinemas and depositing us, permanently,  in a very small  village with no amenities and a barely there bus service with which to take you to civilisation  (civilisation only existing between the hours of 10 and 4 apparently)  and thus to a library which was my life's blood when young - I couldn't believe there wasn't a library in this place - how was I to survive.  It was a big big shock to my system.


As my CV states I am adaptable and flexible so, not being in a position to do anything about it - I was always too scared to runaway -  I coped and tried to make the best of it.  Well, I endured it albeit not very silently until I left home at 19.  This  was young to go in those days unless you were off to university or to join the forces which was the usual method of escape from 'the village' and neither of which I was doing. Once I left it became a nice place to visit (in between the people, shopping,  parties and social life I was catching up on) as long as I didn't stay too long, like more than 2 hours (joke - I loved seeing my family and was happy to stay for 4 hours being as the buses only ran every 2 hours).  Fortunately none of my family live in 'the village' any longer and so I don't have to visit. 

The village life of my former years is not something I usually dwell on but I remembered not long after we moved there the village shops began closing down.  The baker went, one of the three grocery shops became a restaurant (and it was the one where I used to buy my Fab ice lollies while waiting for the school bus in the morning so I was not best pleased), then another closed down leaving just the not overly well stocked corner shop. The bank became an antiques shop and eventually the greengrocers closed.  To this day only the butchers and the corner shop remain.  My parents, being the proud owners of 5 children who needed regular feeding on a very tight budget, now had to invest in a refrigerator with an icebox (no-one we knew had a freezer)  and then had to spend money on petrol to drive once a week to the nearest town 15 miles away to shop in the supermarket.  It was not a happy experience,  for them or for me who, as the eldest,  had to babysit.  Also, supermarkets then were not the all encompassing purveyors of all your heart could desire that we now know.  There was just the one, it wasn't that big and so there wasn't much choice and being the only one it was also horrendously busy.

Then came the vans.

Once the village shops started closing down enterprising people with vans started coming round.  Twice a week the bread van came laden with squidgy, soft, yeasty bloomers, crispy topped bridge rolls, crusty cottage loaves all begging to be smothered  with soft, yellow, creamy butter and consumed with delightful relish.  There were also long  finger buns topped with soft, shiny, sticky pink or white icing that could be licked off with the tip of your tongue.   The best way to do this was to eat the bun from underneath so that all you had left was the top of the bun with the icing on otherwise after the joy of licking off the icing you then had to eat plain bun.  Nice, but not so much fun.

The fish van also came weekly with freshly caught fish.  It smelt of the sea and evoked memories of light glistening on water, warm pebbles, wet seaweed and woody, tarry upturned boats drying in the sun. 

Once a week the fish and chip van would park at the top of the road and the smell of the frying oil and vinegars would propel us out of the house to join the queue for an occasional fish and chip supper. The rest of the time we just sniffed the air and whined 'oh pleeease just some chips' usually to no avail. 

Every day in summer and once a week in  winter not one but two ice cream vans came round; Mr Whippy and Walls fought it out for our custom - I was a Walls soft scoopy girl myself and always, always with a flake.

Once a month the joy that was the Corona Soft Drinks lorry appeared and I could get my fix of limeade with sharp, pointy bubbles that burst on my tongue (and I still have my own teeth!!). 

These deliveries made life easier and cheaper for my parents (who were very good at not giving in to our constant badgering each time the ice cream vehicles  appeared) and I just loved the vans.  I loved the anticipation of their arrival, poking around in the back to see what they had got with them this time, helping Mum make my her choices,  watching her pay and then the pleasure of eating and/or cooking whatever had been chosen.  My Mum used to make us fish and chips the day the fish van came.  The fish was always a  lovely white colour, it would be thick and would just flake off the fork when eaten and if we were lucky she would coat it in her own homemade breadcrumbs.  I loved to help by dipping the fish firstly in egg and then the breadcrumbs ready for frying.


And so I spent a fanciful five minutes (or so) thinking wouldn't getting a little van (possibly purple or a luminous green or even better a bright, bright yellow),

and filling it with tasty homemade breads (yes, yes I know), delicious pretty cakes, buns and pastries, heartwarming soups, ready to heat homemade casseroles and pies, home grown vegetables and then driving  around the countryside delivering all these goodies to people be such a lovely way to earn a living.  And it would be so eco-friendly as well. 

But then of course reality set in.  In actual fact the vans didn't last all that long.  Life changed.  Supermarkets began appearing on every available spare piece of land.  People suddenly seemed to become more mobile, more women went out to work and how we lived underwent a change.  Now shopping online means supermarkets deliver to your kitchen and bespoke goods like beautiful cakes can be ordered over the interweb and delivered to your door as and when you want them. Not many people are around during the day any more so a daily delivery van is no longer an option. 

Perhaps I had better get back to the stall idea bearing in mind how many stalls and street markets we seem to get in the city centre and how popular they are in general.  Borough Market for example.

Stalls are the new delivery vans. 

I want one.

The Culinary Secrets Act

Since mrs pao set up my blog for me a while ago, thus introducing me to the art of blogging, I have been errr browsing, surfing??? anyway going through many a food blog collecting millions of recipes, which I really will put into little yellow computer folders the next time it rains on a Sunday (along with clearing out the larder, filing paperwork, sorting out my aromatherapy draw, tidying the bookshelf etc).  Of course one of these days I  will also try out some of these million or so recipes. No, really, I will.  Especially some of  joythebaker's recipes. In fact the next time AJ, TJ and MG come to lunch they may well get her chicken pot pie - so there. 


Anyway in/on (oh no I have to learn a whole new vocabulary of terminology now!) one food blog I came upon I discovered that they used recipe testers - and what is more they wanted volunteers.   I had no idea such a thing existed, outside the realms professional cooks employed by the likes of Jamie and Delia et al.


And so I applied.


I had to fill in a little box saying a bit about myself so I told them I  had been made redundant after being in a stressful job, rediscovering joys of photography, reading, cooking  etc etc.  And then I had to say why I wanted to be a recipe tester for them........... so I said..........wait for it........'.if I can successfully follow a recipe... then it must be  foolproof, check out my blog'!!! I read it all back, not once but twice - and then I sent it.

I got an email back saying they had enough volunteers at the moment but they were always on the look out for suitable people.  That was it.  No -  and as we consider you to be eminently suitable we will keep your details on file - or - will get back to you when we have a vacancy - or - even thank you for your interest. For a while I was surprised.   Then I remembered.  Ah,  blown it again then.

I now wanted to be a recipe tester more than anything and so spent much, much, much time looking at food blogs but sadly found no opportunities.

So imagine my surprise when opening my email today I found an invitation from the very website I had applied to asking me to be one of their recipe testers. 

I'm so excited!!!   I'm registered already.  Of course it's all unpaid and I have to supply the ingredients at my own cost but I'm a recipe tester. How very, very exciting. There are some  legal bits and one of them is a block on the things  I can actually talk about so until I have worked out what the legalese means I can't say much having already signed the legal agreement which makes me a recipe tester.  I can say(I think) that I have chosen my first recipe (can't say what it is though) and my evaluation  has to be sent in within a week.  The evaluation  'may', if it is well written and interesting enough, be published on their website - they must have an awful lot of testers writing reviews but, you never know.... oh how exciting.

And, someone is going to have to eat some of the things I am going to be cooking so invites may well be abounding in a fortnightly manner..........   Although by the sounds of it we won't be able to discuss the food, or is it just the recipe, I really must get straight in my mind just what it is I have signed up to.

It is an American website so there are a few translation issues that need resolving such as 'how much is a cup of something?', 'what is cilantro?', 'how much is one stick of butter'?, 'is a pie plate the same as a pie dish'? a 'how do I broil something' and 'what on earth  is a Ramp'?.  Luckily for me my friend MO is American so I can ask her for clarification, without actually mentioning what it is I am doing of course.

Me, a recipe tester - imagine that. 

They obviously didn't look at my blog so I shall keep quiet about it I think.

Domestic Goddess in Training - A Tale of two cakes - the cake that cried

Well, I did it.

 I tweaked.

And look

It's red going in

And it's red coming out.

So, what I did was decrease the cocoa powder by 10grams and increase the flour by 10grams and I increased the baking powder as well. It was meant to only be by 1gram but 3grams found their way in. Then I increased the red food colouring by a half.  And it went red.  So proud of self.

And then -  I had to go and ice it!!!

First I put the butter cream frosting in the middle and on the outsides

this is not how it is supposed to look

but never mind no-one would see because I was going to cover it with ready to roll icing





like this

Now, what I should have done is cut the icing downwards and outwards and what I did was cut it downwards and inwards and that is why it looks like a ball.  Which isn't at all right.  But it was late at night and I was very tired and I should really have been in bed - so what did I do. 

Why, I carried on and decorated it of course

like this

 In the original recipe the spots were delicate little things but I couldn't find any round cutters small enough. 

And then I found the melon baller. 

Just a pointer - a melon baller may look like a little circle but when it is used to cut out red circles which are then placed on a white background - the red circles become huge.  When this happens it is not a good idea to carry on using  the original number of circles.  Spatial awareness - nil points.

Tip of the day - if you can't get coloured sugar paste, which is what the recipe calls for, and decide to use the white ready to roll icing and food colouring - do not - repeat - do not - dip the cut out shape in a dish of food colouring and then stick it onto the cake.  If you do this will happen

it will run - like this



 and you can't wipe it off or cover it up.  I know.  I tried.

So for the next spots I used the same food colouring but painted them with a pastry brush and then stuck them on the cake and waited - a short while.  Nothing ran.  Hah, I thought, I might be getting the hang of this domestic goddess business at last.

I finally packed up and crawled into my bed.

I had a dream. 

I dreamt  my white icing had turned red.  I so was disturbed by this occurrence I woke up and staggered into the kitchen to inspect the cake.  I lifted the lid of the tin and peered myopically inside.  I was relieved to see the icing was still white.  I  staggered back to bed and   sleep.

In the morning I again  lifted the lid of the cake tin to gaze proudly at my newly decorated small tier  red velvet cake to find

my cake had cried



Quite a few of the red circles had run during the night. 

I'm obviously not getting as good as I thought,  slow running food colouring hadn't occurred to me.  Ah well, nothing I could do about it - so I just packed it ready to take to AJ's with me.

MG had fun putting all the candles she could find on the cake despite her mother's protestations that she wasn't that old.

and it tasted quite nice.


So, all in all, it was an almost successful cake.  And I learnt a lot about the liquidity of food colouring.

It's my Mum's birthday next  week and I'm going to make it again for her because practise makes perfect.  My plan this time is to paint the decorations with food colouring and this time let them  dry before putting them on the cake.

We shall see.............