Allegedly when you get older you need less sleep.  As if to prove the point my beloved Big Basset tested that principle by waking me up at the crack of dawn to wish me happy birthday.  Darn dog.  It’s not like he didn’t curl up nose to tail and go back to sleep when he’d popped out to do his business and scoffed his breakfast at record rate. Since I was up and about there was nothing for it.  Time for a cuppa and a spot of card and present opening.

As always I was spoiled rotten with a vast pile of books, DVDs, smellies and a rather fetching not to be worn walking the dogs or cleaning out the chickens merino body warmer. Seems once again my farmgirl fashion needs to be put in its place.  A little like Christmas not being in winter it doesn’t seem quite right that my true Spring birthday is now nestled in autumn in the southern hemisphere.  And as if to add another strange dimension for the first time in my memory I’ve shared my birthday with Easter.

The possibilities for overdosing on chocolate and other goodies has been extreme.  But I’ve resisted.  Content to potter on at home – chilling out, walking the dogs and procrastinating on whether to spend my birthday money on a Kindle.  Birthday’s wouldn’t be complete without a birthday cake so I dived into my two cookery new books and once again declared war on the Victoria Sponge Cake.

According to Monty and Sarah Don the best method is to weigh your eggs.  However, Pam Corbin of River Cottage Fame throws caution to the wind and relies on egg grading to be a fool proof guide.  After chatting with the chooks this morning the girls couldn’t guarantee size of eggs so on balance said take the scientific root of the Don’s and weigh the eggs and then measure the same amounts in sugar, flour and butter as the true root to domestic bliss.

The resulting cake was indeed tasty – especially on account of the home made strawberry jam.  But for some inexplicable reason it didn’t quite look like the one that Monty and Sarah make (apparently blindfolded – per chance some sort of kinky ritual in deepest Herefordshire ?).  I fear that being chucked out of Domestic Science class in lieu of taking physics and chemistry instead meant I am destined to fail at producing the perfect VSC.  Tasty it was but light fluffing and several inches tall it was not.

I refuse to be downhearted – after all where food is concerned it’s the taste that counts.  But next time I’ll place my trust in Pam and see what happens.

Excuse me whilst I just fetch the fire extinguisher before I put the right number of candles on my cake.