Jols baked me a cake today for my birthday. My favourite cake of the moment — a sort of chewy almondy chocolatey concoction, lovingly topped with flaked almonds.
Her chosen course of action was to light all the candles before I came into the house after work, at which point she would then step forward with a rousing rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’.
Only, I got waylaid on my way from the car to the front door, and all the lit candles starting giving off quite a heat (I’m getting old, you know). Minutes passed, and Jols, standing there, bearing the cake on a platter, began to sweat (literally) over whether this was all going to work.
By the time I finally got into the house, the candles were merrily ablaze.
She stepped forward with the cake and proceeded to sing:
“Haaa—” —at which point she stumbled a little, and slopped molten wax onto the lovingly chopped almonds and the cake beneath.
“Ho no—” —at which point she blew out the candles.
—at which point she burst into tears.