Baking

Dear Diary, Early this morning, long before the birds were twittering in the trees, Niece knocked on my boudoir door, requesting permission to enter. I thought about it; almost pretended I was asleep, but my better nature took over. I invited her in. One has to be sociable!

Evidently the household will be in a state of chaos over the weekend, as visitors are arriving. My baking skills are required.

I love baking, but Niece has a strange idea of what constitutes baking. No chocolate sponges, no seed cake ... its the seeds she dislikes; she considers they resemble mouse droppings ... no caramel meringue square over-laden with calories, nor a plain ginger biscuit. Niece expected me to make lamingtons, which are so easy to concoct that a 7-year old could make a respectable job of it.

She must be counting her pennies! No runny chocolate icing for these lamingtons. Instead I dissolved jelly crystals [the cheapest brand], cut a slab of bought sponge cake into manageable squares and sneakily slipped the edges into my mouth ... all this before breakfast! The coconut supplied was not as I am used to, but a versatile cook learns to work with poor tools.

Thirteen lamingtons stand in the refrigerator. I hope that thirteen does not prove to be an unlucky number, though now I think about it, perhaps I should consume one, just for luck?

Dear Diary, I am not sure if I will have time to write over the weekend. Niece will expect me to make conversation, and finding a moment alone could be difficult.