I was 8 years old. Probably. It definitely began as an after-school baking session with my younger sister and Mum. I do remember it was a hot sunny day, so it was probably during the summer term – June or July 1981. My Dad’s birthday is July, so I’d put my money there.
After icing the first batch of cupcakes/fairy cakes, I would have been at a dangerous ‘loose end’. Probably slightly hyper from sugar and the E-numbers contained within 1980’s cake decorating products.
I remember dashing upstairs and proudly descending with an ancient [nasty] yellow bath sponge. I cut the sponge to fit into a leftover cupcake case. I clearly remember thinking that I needed to make the icing extra thick to completely cover the yellow sponge.
I was old enough to know better. I was old enough to know how to keep my audience with me.
I clearly remember telling my Dad I’d made him a special cupcake.
I clearly remember his Dad-ly suspicion and his Dad-ly acquiescence.
I clearly remember him biting into the impenetrable sponge centre.
I clearly remember my sense of Triumph. It was a pivotal moment.