“I’ve got a problem,” said my friend.
“I’m listening”, I replied, in the words of the eponymous hero of my favourite 1990s TV show about a Seattle psychiatrist.
The problem was really not that bad – it was her husband’s birthday (very nice) and we were going to celebrate by going out to dinner en masse with a whole crowd of church friends (very festive) and the restaurant had said we could bring our own cake (very accommodating) but she was having to spend the Saturday earmarked for birthday cake baking at one of those compulsory training sessions they make doctors have before they, you know, save lives. Anyway, I was lying on the sofa when she called, watching a DVD following the hilarious misadventures of a radio psychiatrist and his family…basically, it was the perfect opportunity to have a go at baking my very own fruitcake.
Since this happened, the Great British Bake Off included a Fraisier as one of the showstopper challenges, and in other news, we moved to another low-ceilinged house, I got made redundant and then found another job, and my lovely generous dad bought us a fancy oven.