On saturday evening I drove back to the showground to pick up my entries, my certificates and my winnings (I should've taken the armoured car). The Pavilion was abuzz with people doing the same. I decided to get my sewing first. The Head stewardess said, "Oh darling! We loved your bag. Do me a favour next year enter eight more things!" I think she was channelling Jeannie Little but I was nevertheless quite chuffed until I heard her saying the same thing to someone else.
I walked over to the cookery section to pick up my sadly unloved cake. A woman there seemed to feel it was vital that she told me what the judge had said, so much so that when her phone rang and I tried to make my escape, she grabbed my wrist and would not let go. I gave in and waited but I did get some funny looks. Was I an apprehended cake thief?
She told me that my presentation had let me down (Hmm? Didn't they notice my fancy plastic plate?) but that the cake did taste good. So they do taste the cakes, that's a relief. They take a tiny little sliver out, like a core sample of earth. You can sort of see it here. It's like the slice of cake Posh would cut if she was on a food binge. Apparently the issue with mine was the crack. I had a feeling about that when I made it but then aren't all cakes baked in loaf tins supposed to have a crack, especially lemon syrup cakes so all the lemony goodness can soak into the cake? I think next year I'll try something else instead of just cooking it ten degrees lower as she suggested.
I then picked up my winnings. Six dollars and then splurged on a DVD for S for the night.
By this stage the cake was a bit dried out, but you know it's cake so I cut a piece for Jack for morning tea. He turned to me and said, "This cake is old Mummy."
Everyone's a critic!