Why did I agree to this?

I love to bake, so to save money, I agreed to make our wedding cake.

I love to bake, so to save money, I agreed to make our wedding cake.

86 vanilla cupcakes with sky-high pink, purple and green rippled icing will be perched upon an enormous tower, crowned with a sandwich topper that can be cut.

So far, I have made 125 cupcakes.

The first batch were perfect (pictured) and I shared them with my neighbours. Lynn from 3/2 came to the door a few days later to say they were the best cupcakes she’d ever had.

48 cupcakes have gone straight in the bin - not fit for human consumption.

And 24 of them erupted into suggestive, erect peaks reminiscent of Mount Vesuvius or Madonna’s famous bra.

The first 12 I made were just a trial run, so I faffed and pottered and took my time, adding a little more of this, and a little less of that. I took astonishing liberties with the recipe.

But when it came to making the cupcakes in earnest, it was time to get serious and follow the recipe to the letter.

I read the recipe the whole way through, like I was reading an exam paper.

I measured the ingredients precisely, shaving off microscopic slivers of butter.

And I programmed my oven to the exact temperature stated on the instructions.

I concentrated hard as a whisked, beat, measured and folded to a timer.

…And every single batch that came out of that oven was diabolical.

How one batch can come out undercooked and collapsed, and another can come out overcooked and erupted when I did exactly the same thing is beyond me.

I opened the pedal bin with my foot and sighed as I trashed them all - a pan in each hand. Followed by an encore of this performance.

Despair.