I made a cake

Given that I’m too bruised to venture into public, I told myself that this week I would finish one of the projects I took on earlier in the summer.  The client gave me an open deadline – basically finish it when I get round to it – but obviously I don’t get paid if I don’t do work.

P has been busy this week too – he’s supervising some postgrad students’ theses – so it seemed like a great opportunity to work.

Alas, it was not to be.  The reasons were three-fold.

1. I got a bad night’s sleep – kept rolling over onto my poor battered-and-bruised side.
2. I had a bad morning – I found mould on my favourite jam and I made an atrocious cup of coffee.  Seriously.  Worst ever.  I managed to burn it and get half of the grinds into the cup.
3. I made a cake.

The cake was (is) wonderful.  It’s a chocolate cake with raspberry cream filling and bitter chocolate ganache on top.  But the cake will not pay for all the furniture I have bought since moving house.

Tomorrow, I will write.  I swear.