For the past twelve weeks, every Tuesday at eight I’ve sat down to watch the great British bake off.
An hour of baking, Mary Berry, Paul Hollywood, soggy bottoms, stressed out bakers and two fantastic presenters, Mel and Sue, it has been a thoroughly enjoyable experience.
Steadfastly supporting Ruby all the he he way through (because she goes to UCL), I can’t say I was delighted with the results, but apparently I’m not good at predicting who’ll win the bake off – last year I wanted Scottish James to win, and he did not.
In any case, while I watched the bake off every week, I also discussed it with my sisters. So it meant that it was both an enjoyable tv experience and something I shared with my family at home.
But now? It’s over. I’m left bereft. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my Tuesday evenings, and I don’t know if I’ll ever speak to my sisters again. I need next year’s bake off to come around immediately.
*for reference! I’m not actually worried about not speaking to my sisters.