Throw Me A Chair

Today, a child threw a chair across my classroom. Luckily, I was not in the chair's trajectory so avoided having my brain impaled by a chair lag. Everybody in the classroom jumped. I did not. I maintained an air of controlled calm, mostly because my ear is still buzzing and I was feeling discombobulated, but deep down what I really wanted to do was pick the chair up and throw it back, with maybe a table or two to underline my displeasure vis a vis flying furniture.

And my transgression?

I had asked said child to put his balloon away. Six times. Nicely. Politely. Starting with humour. Working up to firm resolve. I mean, it's not an unreasonable request, is it? We had things to do in class which in no way, shape or form involved the use of a balloon. The balloon was being distracting. So please put it away.

Perhaps I wasn't clear enough in my instruction. 'Please put the balloon away.' Could be interpreted as 'Gjfirow huf ewo fjisgnrj shkf,' I suppose. By a particularly idiot child.

Another idiot child refused to be quiet whilst I was explaining the main activity of the lesson.

'I can't help it,' he said. 'I've got ADHD.'
'But you managed to sit through a 25 minute assembly the other week without speaking,' I said.

The child shrugged. This was an irrelevant observation. 'It was assembly,' he said. Like that made all the difference. He continued to talk over me. A couple of his peers told him to shut up. He ignored them too, so I didn't feel quite so bad about my inadequacies.

So today I decided it would be a good idea to open a cake shop. I am not cut out to be a teacher. Not in the current social climate. Cake will never, EVER throw a chair. Or answer back.

The enterprising cake idea

I woke up this morning, which was a relief, because it meant I hadn't died in the night from complications after banging my head in a spectacular fashion yesterday. I zipped into town first thing and got my mum's birthday present. This followed our annual pre-birthday conversation.
'What would you like for your birthday, Mum?'
'Oh, don't bother with me, love. Save your money. A nice card will do.'
'But I'm going to get you a present anyway so you might as well tell me if there is anything you'd like.'
'Oh, I don't know. I'll have a think and let you know.'

Which she never does leaving me to wing it and run the risk of buying her something totally inappropriate. But, having known her for 43 years I'm usually okay provided I steer clear of anything digital, electronic or technical. So socks and jam, basically. I popped into Sainsbugs on the way home and bought packets of sweets with which to decorate her birthday cake. I'm going to do a lot of baking today. The hens laid 25 eggs last week equalling their best ever record. In various bowls around the kitchen I have a glut of 33 eggs (although Auntie Pollie put in an order last night for some - phew!) And, in the paper today, there was an informative item regarding some research that had shown an egg for breakfast can lower blood pressure and as Andy already pops pills for this condition, he can now pop an egg every day too!

So serious baking will be occuring chez moi this afternoon - which brings me to my embryonic plan to start baking and selling cakes to earn a few pounds here and there. I've run the thought by a few people who all think it's a good idea as I've been known to make some pretty lush cakes in my time. And several people have offered ideas about what I should call my tiny cake company. These include 'The Cake Lady', 'A Tart with Heart' (thanks for that - you know who you are!), 'The Bun Fight', 'Rosie May's' (after my Gran) and 'Ginger Nuts' (due to the red hair in my family and my liking for ginger. And nuts).

Andy offered 'Marie Antoinette's' . 'You know, ' he said, 'let them eat cake.' I wasn't wholly convinced. She was guillotined after all, when the French went mad with their Revolution. I'm not sure it bodes well for the capitalist aspect of the business.

I had already thought I'd call the enterprise 'Cake, and Eat It' because I want to have a healthy eating slant to it. An ethos that says 'You can eat one of my cakes without feeling guilty about your health because I use good, natural ingredients, no additives or preservatives,' etc, etc. Cakes with fruit and oats, wholemeal flour and unrefined sugar. Proper butter. Nuts and seeds. Lovely spices. And stuff like that. So after I've made Mum's birthday cake and a cake for Andy's lunchbox for the rest of this week I'm going to sit down and do a bit of planning for 'Cake, and Eat It,' just to see what I come up with. I don't want it to take over my life because I am, after all, a writer and I am bashing away at Novel Number Three in order to try my luck in the adult fiction market.

But the cake idea is a thought that is bubbling around rather pleasantly in my thoughts. A bit like spring is bubbling around outside with lighter mornings and longer evenings, warmer air and green shoots popping up here and there. Neither are ready to burst forth quite yet. But there's definitely something there that will be worth waiting for.

Rough waters and yummy cake

It was stormy weather in the swimming pool this morning. There was much splashing and tidal wave making and people flinging themselves around in inconsiderate ways whilst doing extravagant strokes like butterfly. Not me, I hasten to add; I am a calm swimmer of the breast-stroke 'I must, I must, improve my bust' variety and try to make as little splash as possible out of consideration for my fellow pool users. But I ploughed on and only got out when a family of four appeared and the father jumped in and displaced at least 30% of the water.

Back home I had a cup of tea and a bit of a think about how much I like cake. Not only eating cake (although that is a big part of the equation) but actually making cake. On Sunday I spent a very happy morning in the kitchen listening to the radio and making marmalade, cakes and biscuits. In fact, I believe my kitchen achieved an almost zen-like quality as the mixing and mushing developed and evolved and the scents of home baking wafted and filled the house. And I got to thinking, 'I could start a business selling cakes,' or at least run a market stall at the WI or one of the many farmer markets that are springing up hither and thither. I could expand into other areas - for example, I am determined to grow a mass of basil this year and make my own pesto. I could make pies and tarts and flans. Biscuits. And more cake.

The possibility of starting a business is an idea Andy and I have been toying with recently. We've started exploring the notion of bed and breakfast. And catteries. And mobile veterinary services. Having completed my second book for children, I am filling time with odds and sods of writing (I've discovered that it's not quite the season for short stories - I know, would you believe that magazines have a season for submitting short stories??) whilst I decide on my NEXT BIG PROJECT. I have four ideas for the next novel. In fact, a couple of them have already reached the 15,000+ word count. But I'm suffering with indecision at the moment about which to pursue seriously and so my mind has drifted to other thoughts of a creative nature. Namely cake.

So I'm going to research my cake-selling idea.

On another note, you'll be pleased to know that following yesterday's receipt of a bailiff's notice addressed to the wrong people at the wrong address, I received a very apologetic phone call from the bailiff himself, who grovelled a lot and then did some more apologising and said he would be around this evening to collect the offending epistle, if that was all right with me. My goods, chattels and chickens remain intact.

And finally, I must apologise to Andy for eating the last smidgeon of his Valentine chocolate heart yesterday because I thought he didn't want it (I know, I know, a stupid thought indeed!). I feel very contrite. So I'm making him a jam sponge pudding for tea tonight. I hope this is acceptable, darling!?