A shocking baking tragedy at Kentish Town! OH VILLAINY!

when icing goes wrong!

A fearful crime was committed at The Cottages in London's Kentish Town by a cook and housekeeper, Rachel Kelly. This is the particular account of the desecration, a murder most cruel, of a completely blameless cupcake.

OH BARBAROUS CRUELTY!

This tale is strong meat for those of a delicate disposition. NASTINESS AMPLIFIED!

This cruel hostess invited unsuspecting friends and neighbours to a grim CHAMBER OF HORRORS that was her kitchen, where the horrid happening that terrified this fearful throng occurred.

OH WOE! THE HORROR!

We didn't know they whispered fearfully.

A HORRIBLE CASE OF GREAT SUFFERING! UNNATURAL CRUELTY!

Enough!

It could be that rhubarb cupcakes were an idea whose time has not yet come . . . I had ordered my groceries online and the rhubarb that arrived were long stems of pale green rather than the pink I had anticipated. I had hoped to use a rhubarb syrup to give the icing a delicate pink colour - infused with the colours of an early English summer. It was not to be.

Perhaps using golden icing sugar hadn't been such a good idea. Nor using the beautiful yellow farmhouse butter - a strong buttery colour rather than a pale European one. With hindsight, talking of butter that has a "buttery colour" might have been a clue.

I tried to compensate and true to form, over compensated. I added a little pink food dye to the pale yellow butter cream icing. I was hoping for a peachy pink colour and ended up with a neon pumpkin orange. This would have been fine if the cupcakes were pumpkin flavoured or even gingerbread. But the orange was clashing horribly with my delicate strawberry and cream cupcakes as well as the rhubarb ones.

when icing goes wrong!

"Never mind," said one of my friends consolingly. "I like the retro look. It's a bit like having an avocado bathroom suite and a space hopper." We sat eating the cupcakes out in the garden taking in the last of the evening's warmth, lights flickering in tea glasses giving off a faint glow in the dark. "Besides," he added, "nobody can tell what colour they are in the dark, apart from the fact that they are glowing a little . . ."

Strangely I didn't feel comforted just annoyed with myself and preparing to go back to my baking drawing board, yet again. Although perhaps there is something to admire in my attitude of optimism and hope over adversity. At least it is unlikely that I shall make the same mistake again. Although knowing my baking experiences, it just means that there are more disasters out there to be enjoyed.

So the moral of the story is . . . actually I don't know if there is a moral to this dreadful tale. Perhaps I should pay more attention to detail again. And I really must stop reading so many history books on Victorian crime and punishment. Although I suspect hell will have to get a bit colder and is about as likely as me ever getting the hang of icing cupcakes!