I am making a beetroot cake. I am no baker; I have warned everyone in the flat not to get their hopes up as I bake like a three year old. There is mess, burns, charcoalled edges, and general disgust from all parties concerned. Before the vegetable wonder came out of the oven and revealed itself in all its awfulness, Charlotte had been trying to unravel my lack of confidence in my own baking skills. She asked me if anyone has ever been mean to me about my baking, and if there has been some sort of childhood trauma that has resulted in my desperate, sad, pathetic baking fears. But no. It is simply that I am

a) bad at maths and science;

b) impatient; and

c) lacking a red KitchenAid food processor. OF COURSE.

So, anyway, the cake has come out, it is burned on top, it tastes like rust and it is like a pool of puce underneath the blackened crust (to borrow from Nigella). I am vindicated and a little sulky.

But we did have a holiday in Crete last week, so there is that that memory to balance my domestic pain. Crete was full of good stuff. There may be a photo essay. In fact, there is. Sorry to any facebook friends – this will be boring deja vu.


This is Custard on the beach, feeling a little bit cold but pretending not to be. Mark is huddling.


These are all the boys who live at my house, sitting on the sea wall in Chania. Again, cold, but faking it nicely.


A most genius and only slightly dangerous kid-propped-up-high-in-the-ancient-sea-wall-cubby-hole photo setup. He was fine, the fall was much shorter than it looked.


Barnaby and Noah. Cute. And how much are you loving the return of the Canon camera? I know I am, even if we only have a long distance lens which means I have to be out in a row boat to have taken the sea wall shots.

So, Crete was a little bit autumnal, but there was good stuff like the horse ride, the cats, the fresh orange juice, the frequenting of tavernas for feta-and-lamb-related lunches, and the spa pool. Here is the horse:


and here is the horseman who was extremely old greek man-ish who certainly does a good line in dodgy grins:


So, anyway, that was Crete. We have been back now for a few days and I can say that London retains its charms, even if there are less cats around to chase and far less goats on the roads. We have had an 80’s NZ model move into the street, I have sampled supremely good lolly cake from the NZ cafe in Westfield, and I have conquered black eyeliner. There are marvellous crisp orange leaves swallowing up the grey footpaths and Christmas is on its way. I had some vague optimistic ideas of baking something seasonal, but after the beetroot cake horror, think that mince pies from Waitrose would be much, much more in the Christmas spirit.


PS Noah didn’t actually fall off the sea wall into the water. That was LAST YEAR.


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2 Responses to Beetroot

  1. Amber says:

    Not Rach?

  2. theharridan says:

    not rach. redhead. thin. impossibly gorgeous. bought the flat woody was filming in…angela dunn

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