Many moons ago …

… my Mum worked full-time which included Saturday. My sister and me helped out with chores. Even then I loved to cook – perhaps to strong a word – but in those days we were taught to cook etc., at school – then it was called Housecraft - nostalgia is a wonderful thing.

Anyway I digress. To give perspective I think I should point out that I am going way back almost to the Dark Ages – 1967 ish. The gas cookers of the day were basic and mostly made by a company called De La Rue – by today's standards of the fashionable “range” style they would look like a cooker you'd put in a dolls house despite the fact that they did make different sizes!

Moving on with my story. Mum didn't arrive home from work until 6pm and so we would do what we could towards “tea” as it was called in those days.

One Saturday afternoon I decided I'd make a cake for after “tea”. Full of enthusiasm I opened the box – yep, add an egg, stir and away we go. Obviously I needed a cake tin - found a perfect circular one and the rest, as they say, is history.

It's wasn't rocket science and into the oven went the cake. At the appropriate time I opened the oven door, so excited and oh so horrified to be greeted with the sight of a grotesque mess - it had completely melted – as it would do, since the cake tin I'd chosen with such care was in fact plastic – a twisted molten mess that would qualify as an candidate for an exhibit at Tate Modern! A combination of molten white plastic and a biscuit coloured cake mix all over the oven rack and there was nothing I could do about it …..

except wait for Mum to get home.

When you eventually get to be a grown-up and you've had these little hiccups along the way we should perhaps remind ourselves of how fear clutches at your heart when you're a youngster.

How many times have you heard, “things are never as bad as they seem” - YES THEY ARE I'M LOOKING AT MY MUM'S WRECKED OVEN. Two hours seemed like two weeks until she arrived home and I was able to confess.

How lucky was I – she took one look at it – by now a cooled monster - carefully removed the rack from the oven and consigned it to an outhouse – when she'd stopped laughing – and that is where the expression “a wicked sense of humour” comes from - our Mum had the best!

To finish off my story, some several days later I was summoned to the outhouse where said rack with the twisted Tate Modern offering lay, still in tact. “Stand back” was the command and I watched as Mum swung a very large hammer and whacked the rack and the molten mess split right in two and the rack was as clean as a whistle.

P.s. The rack lasted for years as did Mum's sense of humour.