This weekend I will make a cake.
I have not baked properly in a metric fucking ages, so I think it’s about time. Plus watching the Hairy Bikers is making me want to make something because this apple and blackberry steamed pudding thing looks incredible.
I would say maybe it’s my stomach talking, bored as it is with living off brown rice, potatoes, beans, broccoli and kale.
But I do think I owe it to myself to mix up loads of sugar and shit in a bowl, shape it into a recognisable cake-shape then put it in an oven for a bit. I mean, I don’t have any of the ingredients already, so I’d have to buy them. And being broke as I am, purchasing essentially frivolous things like this isn’t something I should be doing right now.
And, I mean, I’d have to use some form of specialised manufacturing tools (“a cake tin”), obviously. It wouldn’t be a proper cake without one. I don’t actually have one though, so I’d have to go buy one from Waitrose or wherever. Again, it’s a frivolous purchase that I really shouldn’t be bothering with.
It wouldn’t take too long to make it all, though – just a bit of a time investment. I mean, I can’t be arsed putting time into anything that isn’t sitting and playing games or writing the shit I have to write – like this. So I probably won’t actually put any time into making a cake.
So, actually, I won’t buy the ingredients, I won’t buy the equipment and I won’t spend the time doing it.
This weekend I will not make a cake.
I will sit in my pants and eat clemetines.
Does anybody want to bake me a cake?