Or at least Christmas cake.
Christmas cakes.
Or, specifically, Dundee cakes.
As we don't like marzipan or icing.
We like cake.
But before that, there is the morning to deal with, with the usual chores.
We had an appointment in Canterbury at half eleven, which gave us little time to do other stuff, so Jools did beading, and I did whatever it is I do to fritter away the time.
We left at half ten, or a bit after, for the fifteen mile drive along the A2 to the city.
Rain had been forecast for most of the day, but by eleven, it hadn't arrived.
We went round the inner ring road, then up the hill to the university to meet with our financial advisor, with whom we had a few things to sort out and to clarify.
We talked for nearly and hour. Signed some papers, and were off back down the hill into the city, stopping off at Whitfriars so Jools could return some clothing to M&S. As it was just down the stairs, I waited in the car. Doomscrolling.
That done, we drove back out the city and home towards Dover, only just escaping an accident as a driver lurched to turn right at the Whitfield roundabout from the left hand lane. Without indicating.
So it goes.
Back home for lunch, then to the mixer for some cake action.
Mix butter and sugar for 15 minutes, add four eggs. Add flour, then fold in dried fruit (soaked in Madeira for three days), Morello cherries and dried peel. Oh, and mix spices.
Tip into a triple lined tine, cook for four hours on low. Let cool.
And for a second trick, I rustle up a huge pan of chilli, made with lamb mince instead of beef, and you know, its really good.
Rain came late in the afternoon, and pretty much continued all night. Not enough, but a start.
We have supper, but with no football on all the channels I subscribe to, I listen to another discussion about Citeh before heading to bed at nine.
The entire house smells of cake.
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