So after a couple of hours constructing bomboniere yesterday evening, I wandered into the kitchen and noticed a cake box on the table.
But I should explain that it was my sister’s hen’s night a couple of evenings previous, and she was very, very ill, so between panadol and antibiotics, didn’t drink much and probably didn’t party hard (so I was told; it’s not like I was there…). Apparently she didn’t eat much in the way of sweets.
So anyway, there’s a cake on the table. Turns out her friend made it. For the hen’s night. Nobody told me this, it became self-evident when I opened the box and, lo! and behold! –
Apparently it’s rocky road inside. (In the cake, I mean… oh, never mind!)