The Great British Bake Off

The Great British Bake Off.

Am I right?!

I was only interested when I heard about Bingate (I wanted to call it BakedAlaskaGate but my boyf tells me that it “doesn’t flow properly”. Fuck it, what does he know? I’m the one who did English stuff at university so I know how to speak things gooder than him anyways).

I had heard that the British Bake Off was a rather tame affair. I don’t like my TV too tame, but I also don’t like it with too much drama. I like to think of myself as a reasonably stoic person: I don’t like crying in front of people, I don’t like public declarations of love and I’m not a massive fan of hugging. So I don’t go in for things like Hell’s Kitchen or Masterchef because I can’t handle amateur chefs falling to their knees and poking their eyes out with corn cob skewers because their soufflé hasn’t risen properly. But GBBO seemed a little dull to me. Sure you made meringue, but who did you sabotage to make it so chewy?

You see my dilemma.

That’s why I was so intrigued by BakedAlaskaGate. This year it was still the nice show that everyone loved, but now it was lightly seasoned with scandal. How dare that old lady take that bearded guy’s Baked Alaska out the freezer before it needed to come out! I have never seen anyone’s face go so red! He looked like a freshly plucked radish with a beard. Soon after, Diana – whose last name is weirdly Beard – left the programme, which was a shame because I would have liked her to be GBBO’s pantomime villain, surviving solely on a diet of vanilla bean custard and mean tweets.

Instead we have to settle for Paul Hollywood, AKA the creepiest lookin’ guy on the BBC. Yeah, he’s the one who, under “Hobbies” on his CV, only lists two things: ‘criticising flan bases’ and ‘sniffing panties’.  His too blue eyes and gelled hair and groomed goatee all point to him probably being a retired porn star, which is a strange pairing with Mary Berry, who my boyfriend and I deduced looks like a leather sack filled with cats, controlling her Weekend at Bernie’s style in order to get some cream.

Last week was éclair making. And as uncomfortable as I felt watching Mary guzzling a cream-crammed chocolate éclair into her tiny pie hole, I did actually enjoy the episode. Although it was sad to see Tracey Ann Oberman leave, even though everything she baked was a bit pants. I was relieved that Minty from Eastenders was still in, thank god for his peanut butter masterpieces.

kate_1 luis

I like Chetna best. She has cool salt n pepper hair and she wears nice cardigans and chunky wooden necklaces. She looks like she smells like patchouli and incense. And she made some shit hot éclairs, which I would totally eat regardless of my gluten intolerance. And when I was all big and puffy and sucking custard off of each pudgy fingertip I would shout through a mouthful of choux pastry “I REGRET NOTHING” and it would be totally true.

There’s one thing that scares me, though. Martha. Whuut is with that girl? I want to like her: she seems pretty nice, she’s polite, and I read she owns a cute labradoodle! But she scares me a little. She looks like a haunted Victorian doll; the type you find after a house fire perfectly preserved even though the room it was in was engulfed in flames. Still got those glassy eyes. Still got that terrifyingly sweet smile. But shit, I’d eat all her éclairs too, I just wouldn’t look directly at her whilst doing so.




A Letter to New Look

Dear New Look,

Hey. Hi there, buddy. So this weekend I fell over in a pair of your shoes. Now I know what you’re thinking: if I’m going to wear silly shoes like this…


…It’s my own fault if I fall over. I agree with you. Nothing makes me more apprehensive than seeing a gaggle of girls tottering around in what is essentially a glorified and more dangerous version of bucket stilts, waiting to see which one pounds  the pavement first. However, you will be surprised to hear that I was not wearing those shoes, but these:



I’m not angry. Just hurt. Really, really hurt. You need to put a warning on your flat shoes. Maybe just let people that you don’t grip the bottom. Let people know the soles appear to be coated in Nickelodeon slime. Just pop a little note inside the shoe that says ‘WARNING: These shoes are not suitable for people who plan on running round corners.’

Because that’s what I was doing. I was running round a corner when my agility failed me once again. I slipped and hit every single pointy bit on the left side of my body including my elbow, knee, ankle and a little bone that sticks out in my hand.

So basically my ankle has been reduced to a sock-full of dust where my bones used to be. It’s pretty gruesome, so there’s no need for a picture. The nurse said it would be harder to put back together than the Battle of Trafalgar jigsaw puzzle she’s been working on. That is a true story. Don’t look any further into that though because it’s definitely true, and you can take my word for it. I’m a very trustworthy person, and that’s not coming from me, that’s just what my friends say. They call me Pascale “Trustworthy” Day, and you can trust them too because most of them have degrees. So let’s not bring up the need for evidence because it’s really not necessary, trust me (because you can).

Instead, here is a picture of my hand, which I also hit pretty hard on the way down.

IMG_3108 As you can see, it’s covered with a plaster, and underneath that plaster is another plaster, because I can’t get the first plaster off. It has fused to the scab that is currently forming and will probably be a part of me forever. I’ve also got a booboo on my knee which is very stingy :(.

And before you ask no, I don’t need a Wah-mbulance. I was already in hospital at the crack of dawn this morning to try and get me some crutches. Because I need them to get to work, not because I want to guarantee myself a seat on the train. (That’s another very true fact. You can trust me, remember?). They didn’t give me any, but it was okay because my boyfriend and I got to use my wheelchair to do some suweeeet donuts in the car park which made the excursion totally worth it.

I’ve always thought very highly of you, NL. I’ve always had your back. Even when my friends said that your clothes lose their shape too easily and that all your white tops always have foundation marks around the neck. I say “Nah, they’re alright”. Even when one friend said “Their shoes are festooned death-traps,” well, I didn’t disagree, but the important thing is I didn’t agree either. (I can’t tell you who my friend is because Kate would kill me. (Kate Smith.))

But could I say the same now…………..?

We’re both adults here, New Look. I’m not a monster, and I know you aren’t either. SO GIVE ME WHAT I WANT AND I WON’T SQUEAL:

  • One day’s pay for the sick day I have taken
  • My dignity restored
  • The four hours I spent watching Skins on Netflix back
  • A pair of socks that will fit over my cankle
  • Eventually a new ankle
  • Maybe a new hand – only time will tell
  • Let me be your fashion model for next season – I’m really good at breathing in and I look swell in a chunky knit I promise

Think it over. Get back to me. I hope we can sort this shit out.

Your Compadre,
Pascale Trustworthy Day