Day 1: Half term - "baker extraordinaire"

I only said fuck once today.  This is excellent. .  As you may have gathered it's half term this week when all God's little children get a week off school; A week I have meticulously planned - to the minute.  As a working mum, it stands to reason that I would embrace this week with sincere openness and enthusiasm.  And I believe I have.  Like I said, just the one 'fuck' today. 

The day started well with The Silverback taking on all the morning duties while I had a lie-in.  Unlike other days, I got up immediately on hearing the front door click behind him.  The Lish dutifully installed in the front room with children's TV and breakfast, I made my own breakfast in a leisurely manner as I referred to the day's agenda.  Hackney City Farm. 

And indeed it was a joy to execute - it took almost no time (for London) to get there despite being on the other side of town.  I made sure to engage all the way with The Lish.  Usually I will read but not today.  Either she has matured or I've succumbed to what' I've always known I've had - a bad case of arrested development - but we got eachother.  She asked her usual obtuse questions like :  Is daddy 10? or her favourite, Am I (her) older than daddy? to which I usually answer yes to both but not today.

Today, imbued with the passion and desire to be the mum I can't be when I'm working - I explained that daddy was considerably older than 10 and no, she couldn't possibly be older than the person who made her.  Right?  To which she answered - but you're still older than daddy right?

Yes.

To Hackney Farm then.  I wasn't expecting much, it being a city farm and in Hackney.  And in that respect I wasn't disappointed.  I remember thinking two things.  1. If the owner has even bothered to read the Trade Descriptions Act - this place probably just made the legal requirements and 2. It doesn't feel like 21 degrees today.

Still, I conjured up a secret garden with fairies for The Lish and what's even more amazing was that she bought into it pretending to see fairies in the most unlikely of places.  There were also chickens, two giant pigs, some lambs and a goat - which Lisherlicious mistook for a giraffe somehow.  Then the obligatory visit to the farm cafe.  Irritatingly expensive to say the produce used in the kitchen was less than 10 feet away and I imagine would take the cook less effort to harvest than it takes me to floss my teeth. 

As luck would have it, we just made it around the "farm" and into the cafeteria - managing even to get the comfy seats when it started to pelt it down with rain.  So I wasn't wrong about the weather.  When I say pelt, I mean Cats & Dogs, which to me made the whole experience that much more organic.  The Lish took her shoes off and lay her head on my lap as we watched the sheets of water run down the sky light. 

Once the rain stopped we bolted to the bus stop.  Large pools had formed at the sides of the roads - it had rained that much - and we narrowly escaped getting drenched as some fuckwit bus driver ploughed through the water causing a hip height wave of gutter water to splash onto the pavement. 

Being a life-long Londoner used to a.) the odd downpour of rain and b.) fuckwits in charge of public transport, I'd more than half expected it.  Lisherlicious on the other hand almost had a cardiac episode.  I have to say, it did make me chuckle though I made sure not to let her see this as she can get quite haughty about these things. 

I looked at my watch - it was 12:40pm.  How could this be?  Surely not? ONLY 12.40?  I'd grossly miscalculated how long you can keep a kid at a farm.  I had to think fast - the prospect of getting home at 1:15 with nothing else planned filled me with terror. 

What take ages?  Think! Woman.  Cupcakes.  Two-for-one activity.  It takes ages and then mummy gets to eat most of them.  So I put the idea of cupcakes into her head and it worked.  A little too well because for the rest of the journey home it was:  mummy, can I mixe the cupcakes?; mummy can I lick the bowl?, mummy can I eat the frosting?.  This is sadly the point where I momentarily lost it and said the F word - just low enough for anyone but my conscience to hear but she got the message.

As promised she got to mix the cupcakes, she got to lick the bowl and she go to eat the frosting...and let's face it when they look like this - that is where the culinary experience has to stop.  What do you think of my collection of bum cracks and fannies? Genuis no?

Though I say so myself,  these are not the kind that look shite but taste really rather delicious.  No these look shite and taste of shite.  I would go as far as to say they are fucking awful cupcakes.

Let's see how far off the mark I am, shall we ?  Compare my latest creation to a shop bought cupcake:

Yes, one might say, I have a little way to go before I win Cupcake Wars.  But you know what? We enjoyed making them and The Lish enjoyed getting her own back for the bus splash by pointing and laughing at my baking skills.  And, I've just enjoyed throwing the whole lot in the bin.

All I can say is:

I'd better get some sleep - day 2 of the half term tomorrow and I'm now conscious of the fact that I didn't bargain on kids doing things quicker than anticipated.  Frankly, the prospect of having to bake again to fill time is just too humiliating.