mix and stir

For the best part of a month the best part of a big bottle of marsala has slowly been slurped up by a bloated and increasingly syrupy pot of raisins, sultanas, currants, dates, prunes and figs.

This afternoon the mixture variously met butter, sugar, cherries, hazelnuts, ground almonds, flour, baking powder, my secret ingredient, pith and juice of an orange and a lemon, the best part of half a dozen eggs (complete with chips of shell – Molster’s secret ingredient for healthy bones) and five-and-one-for-luck tablespoons of brandy.

My largest bowl nearly overfloweth. As did my largest baking tin.

We all stirred and wished (I don’t cook puds so the cake gets the wishing) a shh-for-secret wish, lifted, eased and poured.

Into the oven with a bye bye cake and a pink piggy timer for the temperature change.

Then set to with the licking. Molster, who has dabbled her fingers into my single malt since she was in nappies, is showing a steady hand with her greaseproof paper tracings.

Ziggy, a novice, charged around making jungle noises, bouncing off the furniture (this is usual, remember the cerebral palsy) and licking his sister’s back.

Now he’s flopped, prone onto the rug to watch Fungus The Bogeyman, with a third kifter glaze to his eyes.