I’ve always rather liked buying cakes. WI stall, jumble sale, and now the PTA Bake Sale. There’s something endearingly retro about it all. A touch of the domestic diva meets Stepford Wife that conjures up home and hearth in a way an off-the-shelf Batternburg will never achieve. Or at least that’s what I used to think before I had to be the one actually organising the selling. I can now categorise mums into three distinct categories. The wouldn’t dream of baking, and dash to Sainsbury’s and bash a fudge cake around to make it look homemade. The too-little-time mum, who already feels guilty (why? Don’t. Promise that every mum feels guilty about something she is or isn’t doing) about not being around enough. She stays up till 3am after a two-day work trip to Frankfurt to make pink-frosted cupcakes adorned with sugar ballerinas. And the rest of us, who knock something together and hope for the best. The children, of course, are none the wiser. They couldn’t care less if we stomp in with three  flat sponges sprinkled with an apologetic amount of icing sugar, or a gargantuan three-tier chocolate cake that took two nights to create. Which is why I want to bash a certain nursery mother on the head. She’s taking the bake sale to a whole new level of competitive sport; just as well the nominations for new Olympic sports have closed. ‘How about a special prize for the cakes that raise the most money’, was her opening shot.  Followed by, ‘How about we let the children vote on their favourite cake’.

Seriously, get that woman back into a paid job before she overdoses on chocolate frosting. Tripping out the, ‘We don’t want to put pressure on non-baking mums and dads’ cut no ice. ‘It’s for charity, Desperate, don’t you want to raise as much money as possible?’

What can I say? Yes, I think raising money for charity is great, particularly when it also means I can stuff myself with cake all weekend. But if I end up buying a certain double-decker-glitter one by accident, methinks I’ll be choking instead.