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I am a dismal failure

 I invited a few friends over for  lunch, strictly within the rules.  The day before, I decided to make the dessert, a Mary Berry recipe, which she declared is easy to  make and can be made a few days before it is eaten. Making desserts is my bête noir as I don't eat them and never have eaten them.  Unless the recipe has a picture attached I have no idea what they are supposed to look like, smell like, what their consistency should be and of course I don't know whether they taste right.  However, when I invite people to lunch I feel obliged to make the effort.  So I followed the recipe to the letter, popped it into the oven and removed it when it was 'well risen and firm to the touch' as instructed.  Within 1 minute the middle had caved in, followed by the sides and I was left with a gooey mess resembling a pancake.  Disgusted at my pathetic effort I picked it up and tossed it in the bin.  What a waste of three good eggs.

Not to be discouraged however, I  set to making another dessert, an American recipe and one I had made before.  It didn't look great so I covered it with crème fraiche and hoped for the best.  I put it in the fridge and started making the chicken dish.  At the point where the remains of making 2 desserts and the vegetables and chicken were spread across the kitchen, the telephone rang.  It was the estate agent asking if he could bring someone round at 2pm.  I looked at the clock.  1.20pm.  I surveyed the carnage of my kitchen and started a massive clean up, stuffing things in the oven, the fridge, cupboards, the dishwasher, whether they were dishwasher proof or not, and the bin.  I dashed round the house, checking every room was clean and tidy and sat calmly at the kitchen table when they arrived dead on time.  I think at least they could have bought the house after all that.

My friends arrived the next day, enjoyed the first course, praised the main course and satisfied, we moved on to the cheese.  They left at 5pm to get home before the curfew and everyone was happy.  I went back inside the house and started clearing up.  It was when I opened the fridge to put some leftovers in that I saw it.  My dessert was sitting there staring at me.  I had forgotten to serve it.

Why didn't they say anything?  These are friends after all.  One said that he thought about it but didn't want his wife to tell him off, while another said that she assumed I had made a mess of making one and thought she had better stay quiet.  That says a lot about my dessert making reputation.   Well I say 'speak up' for heaven sake.  My bin is getting full on wasted desserts.

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