My friend Alison makes amazing cakes; handcrafted masterpieces that look like real objects.
She made such a cake for my daughter Ellie’s 11th birthday, in the shape of a violin, her favourite instrument, filled with luscious vanilla sponge and a white chocolate layering covered in icing sugar and delicate spun sugar for strings.
On the morning of Ellie’s birthday, Alison came over and presented her with the cake. Ellie was over the moon with the creation, and for three hours it sat in the middle of the dining room table, a beautiful centre-piece surrounded by sandwiches and nibbles. It didn’t look like a cake, but given its placing, it was clearly a cake.
As guests arrived, each stopped to admire the cake.
Then along came Grandpa, who’s getting on in years. He’d picked up the wrong bag and presented Ellie with a bag of wool instead of her birthday present. Thinking on his feet, and being a keen violinist in his younger days, he picked up the violin, ready to play a rendition of Happy Birthday, but all he did was snap the neck from the body, causing a cascade of crumbs all over the table.
Ellie ran out of the dining room.
Grandpa was clearly gutted, a look of bewilderment quickly turned to a dawning realisation of what he had done and tears started to well in his eyes.
Ellie returned a moment later and everyone sang along as Grandpa played Happy Birthday, on the real violin this time.