Hav­ing her birth­day cake and eat­ing it

Marlborough Express - The Saturday Express, Marlborough - - FRONT PAGE -

Be­fore she starts talk­ing about Cin­derella coaches and Pink fly­ing in to play mu­sic for pass the par­cel, I steer the con­ver­sa­tion to what cake she may like?

My birth­day cake bak­ing is hit or miss. I am ei­ther beam­ing with pride at my clev­er­ness or sob­bing over the rub­bish bin.

Miss Five starts tick­ing op­tions off on her fin­gers. She’d like a cat cake but then again a rab­bit would be nice but how about a Paw Pa­trol cake or even Scooby Doo.

‘‘Oo­hhh, I know!’’ She pauses for dra­matic ef­fect and I brace my­self for the worst. ‘‘I want a uni­corn cake.’’ Of course she does.

As she pon­ders the mer­its of a life-size uni­corn cake I break out in a cold sweat and start fran­ti­cally search­ing Pin­ter­est. It does noth­ing for my morale.

I start point­ing out ba­sic lol­ly­dec­o­rated cakes slightly des­per­ately but she can smell my fear.

Light brown locks go fly­ing as she shakes her head in dis­agree­ment.

‘‘All Iwant is a uni­corn cake,’’ she pleads, bat­ting her eye­lashes at me. I go to Google, af­ter all come May 19, there’s a cer­tain royal cake maker who will have a lot more time on their hands. Miss Five ex­cited.

There are only 75 sleeps to her birth­day. Yes, that’s right, a mere 75 days to go but make no is ex­cited, very mis­take, her sixth birth­day is a mo­men­tous oc­ca­sion right up there with Prince Harry’s and Meghan Markle’s wed­ding.

In fact, I’m sure the royal duo were not as de­mand­ing. If Miss Five could have booked Wind­sor Cas­tle for her cel­e­bra­tions then she cer­tainly would have.

Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright as she out­lines her plans, wav­ing her arms in the air en­thu­si­as­ti­cally as she tells tall tales about what other chil­dren had at their par­ties.

Ap­par­ently there are a few cru­cial el­e­ments that are de rigueur these days. Top of that list is a uni­corn.

I cast my gaze to our fluffy cat, Polly, and briefly won­der if I could get away ty­ing a uni­corn horn to her head. She flicks her tail at me and stalks off. That’ll be a no then.

There will be games of course she solemnly de­clares, with prizes. The last word is said rev­er­ently in hushed tones.

I brace my­self and ask Her High­ness what kind of prizes she thinks her friends might like? ‘‘di­a­monds and crys­tals’’ for the girls and ‘‘re­mote-con­trolled cars’’ for the boys. Of course, silly me.

I am go­ing to need a bud­get like the royal cou­ple’s too, it seems. I ask if she’d like a red car­pet too, be­fore I re­mem­ber that sar­casm and five-year olds is not a good mix and her eyes light up. Oops.


Miss Five has grand plans for her birth­day. Es­pe­cially when it comes to the cake.

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