Christmas cake 2019

I wasn't planning to make this cake today. It happened that Steve and I popped into Aldi on the way home from a sale of cards at a well-appointed retirement village in Woodchester. I realised I could buy everything I needed to make the cake, so after coming home I decided to embark on making and baking. My expected delivery of cards had not materialised, and I needed something to do while I waited, in case it did turn up.

What did turn up, in its place, was a series of malfunctions with the mixer (stupid flimsy Kenwood chefette; my food processor is broken) and two conversations with a person I shall call "B". B. didn't understand why I hadn't delivered all of her cards yesterday, despite my having explained last week that some would have to be ordered from the company's warehouse (Deliveries are slow at present, and DHL's tracking system is down. Having watched the latest Ken Loach film, Sorry we missed you, I am having serious doubts about the use of any home delivery service. The human cost may ultimately be too high).

Having told B. I was making a cake, I was surprised that she phoned again a few minutes later to request more cards, and to ask why the advent calendars hadn't got envelopes! It looks as if I'll be making a delivery run on Friday, to Stonehouse, amid the ten thousand other things I have to do that day.

My payslip from the charity arrived. The pay was wrong, I had to make a few calls. All will be sorted next month. Poo.

By the time the cake was in the oven, and Steve had made supper, I only had a quarter of an hour to eat supper, before running out to the final radical prehistory session. I left Steve in charge of taking the cake out, and upon my return it was looking, and smelling, perfect. So small, though, compared to the huge one my mother used to make every year. Wonder what size her tin was?

In other news, I have been nursing a sore throat for days. I think it may now be turning into tonsillitis. The lump in my throat is now very painful.