Party queen...

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Bloody hell, I'm all caked out...

Yesterday was one of my colleague's birthdays, and as I was baking for my Pink Ladies tea party, I just did a couple extra to take into Binland.  The carrot cake which I'd made for 'the boys' disappeared in about four minutes - this is what happens when you walk into the canteen just as the drivers are finishing off their sandwiches.  I barely got out of there alive, throwing the cake onto the nearest table and running as fast as I could to the door, waving my security pass frantically.

The black cherry and vanilla sponge lasted a little longer, and when I left Binland yesterday, there were just a couple of slices left.  I had abstained from all cake at Binland (before you start applauding my mid-diet self control, hear me out) because I knew I would be eating the same cakes three hours later when the Pink Ladies arrived.  No one likes to peak too soon, do they.

So fast forward to 4.00, and there are nine ladies in my garden, necking Pimms and fizzy stuff in between cake, scones and sandwiches.  I peaked too soon (good intentions evaporated as quickly as the Pimms in my glass) and spent the rest of the evening mourning the loss of my waistline while the cake settled over the top of my now too-tight jeans.  

But today is another day.  A day to undo the bad work of yesterday.

Oh, who am I kidding.  I've got Miss R and a few others coming over to watch the wedding later this morning with the promise of bacon rolls and a celebratory glass of something (tea, in my case, as I have offered to drive the husband back from the pub after the footie this afternoon).

Sunday will have to be spent eating food's food (green stuff) and drinking water if I am to stand any chance of getting on and off the scales on Monday morning without the scales shouting, 'For heaven's sake woman! Have pity!'

But you know, not every weekend has a Royal Wedding, an FA Cup Final and a whole load of sunshine, so sod the diet, and bring on the celebrations...

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