The Domestic Godlet.

Alright, Nigella. That's it. You and me. Electric hand-whisks at the ready. My curves may be in all the wrong places but when it comes to a victoria sponge, you're going down, bitch.

I can't believe that in the interests of blogging entertainment, I've just called Nigella Lawson a bitch. I'll get hate mail. I take it back.

Actually, I really do take it back. I like Nigella enormously. One always suspects she'd be a fantastic person to have a boozy, girly lunch with. Not only would she wholeheartedly agree with getting another bottle, she'd eat all her pudding. And the little chocolate you get with coffee. A dining partner that doesn't induce guilt as she picks prettily at her salad and smiles at you with kindly concern when you order the Greek Mezzo Sharing Platter for Four. Er - I haven't done that. Well sort of. It was a long time ago. Anyway...

I have today, if you haven't already guessed, been baking with Offspring One, whilst Offspring Two slobbered over everything in his playpen. (Teething.) Whilst I'm generally a very good cook, I'm usually a rubbish baker. Could be because I don't have a sweet tooth and therefore my heart isn't in it, or could be that I'm not very good at following rules - and that includes recipes. Generally my efforts are flat, wonky and taste slightly of chlorine.

For some reason today however, my victoria sandwich is plump, proud and perfect. My lemon drizzle cake couldn't be used as a housebrick and even the little cupcakes don't look like they were made by a five-year old - though in fact, they were.

I wish I could take some picture for you, but the battery has gone on the camera and I've lost my mobile. So you will just have to believe me. Anyway, Nigella, if you're reading (stop sniggering, you never know) be afraid. I've even been practicing licking the spoon in a seductive manner and I've been pouting at the microwave. I could have your job.

Other news. I tried the Atkins diet this week. I stuck to it religiously and then passed out in Tesco's on day three. Highly embarassing incident involving little old ladies, an avalanche of organic cucumbers and a number of well-meaning Tesco's 'First Aiders'. Gave up and went to the pub with husband. Three hundred and twenty four vodka and cokes later, I had decided that I might just have to be a jolly fat lady. I was certainly jolly.

And anyway. Somebody has to help eat all these lovely cakes....