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Of Cakes and Bloggers

Why is there a cake tin on my computer desk?

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That’s an interesting question, and for an answer we need to go back a couple of days to when I received an email from a fellow blogger who, along with another blogger, was making his way back to Gympie after a holiday in Sydney. He knew that I have policy of not ever wanting to meet fellow bloggers in person, but he had also read my post where I actually met one and wasn’t too scarred by the experience, so he asked if I would be up for a brief get together.

My initial reaction was "Fuck! How did he get my email address?" followed by "If I just ignore the whole thing he’ll assume I didn’t get the email".  After thinking it over, and deciding that as he was older than me, if things went bad I could probably take him, I replied "Sure why not, but don’t expect me to talk to you."

And so it was that Peter and Wazza showed up at my refuge for cats, dogs and people that hate everything…

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Wazza (on the right) isn’t really as angry as he looks in the photo, yet strangely enough, Peter (on the left) who is smiling, was one cranky son of a bitch! Just kidding, they were both good blokes and we had a lot of laughs in the short period they were able to spend here.

So what’s all this got to do with cakes and dogs having severe pain inflicted upon them. Well let me splain. I’m a big fan of the CWA and what they stand for, so knowing that two itinerant bloggers were heading my way I made this cake…

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Yumm, looks good eh? It was a Tea Cake, and we each had a small slice. Now this is where the story takes a turn for the worse. Seeing as these two bloggers were on the road and hadn’t had regular internet access for a while, I offered the use of my connection to check their mail, which Peter accepted, but Wazza being only semi-literate declined, as it normally takes him several hours to read a couple of emails and they didn’t have the time.

And so it was that while we were all in the computer room, Belle came trotting down the hallway carrying the cake tin in a scene reminiscent of Oliver Twist asking Mr Bumble for more. Having lived with Belle for the past three plus months, the warning bells started ringing immediately, so excusing myself I raced back down the hall only to find the cake that was sitting on the table awaiting our return had disappeared without a trace.

I’d love to show you photos of what happened next, I had my hands full doing in impersonation of Homer choking Bart! However, Peter took a picture of it so if he sends it to me I’ll post it.

As a postscript, Belle was funny to watch for the rest of the night. She was obviously feeling the effects of her over indulgence (it was a pretty big cake, full of sugar, flour and three eggs) that had only had three small slices taken out of it. She was slow in her movements and couldn’t stay awake, but neither could she seem to get comfortable. Serves her right!

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