The Haunted Cake Stand

I was enjoying afternoon tea with Christopher Biggins, whom I'm sure you all remember from his simply darling role in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, chatting about his 'On Safari' days, and we happened to be utilising a lovely cream and silver cake stand which I'd picked up from a local branch of Scope whilst bargain hunting with a rather rich elderly gentleman called Eunice.

The aforementioned cake stand was simply packed to the brim with all manner of delicious goodies, including an array of Mr Kipling's Fondant Fancies, some home-made macaroons, half-dipped in chocolate, and the Rice Krispy cakes with which Christopher had arrived. Now, I'd never had any trouble with this cake stand before, so I must admit to be utterly amazed when I returned from the kitchen after pouring hot water onto freshly spooned-out leaves, placing the bone china tea service on a beautiful silver tray and making my way through to the sitting room.

The cake stand was, to all intents and purposes, empty. By which I mean that there was naught remaining but a scattering of cake crumbs, two Rice Krispy cakes and a smudge of pink icing where the best of the Fondant Fancies had once been enthroned. Chrissie, himself, was entirely unable to offer an explanation, though it was clear to see from his bulging eyes and, indeed, bulging cheeks, that something bizarre and inexplicable had taken place. I almost dropped the tea set, I now recall, seeing poor Chris try desperately to come to his senses; he was swallowing and very-nearly choking in such an alarming manner. Inexplicable; the situation truly had no rational explanation.

When he'd regained his composure, I was forced to apologise for the lack of cake, and then my eyes alighted on the two Rice Krispy cakes remaining. God bless Sir Christopher, his cheap and cheerful chocolate cereal creations had saved the day. I extended my hand, hooked an exquisite alabaster finger into the top of the cake stand and raised it slightly from the occasional.

'Rice Krispy cake?' I said, gently proffering the china stand.

'No thanks,' he replied. 'I'm not too keen on those.'

Washing Up

Washing up simply has to be the bane of any lad-about-town-ladyboy, doesn't it? I've often spent a few minutes trailing my fingers in the cold bath water around a slightly tipsy accompaniment who's had one two many and needs a little brightening up, mainly because it helps my nail varnish to dry more quickly. The same can't be said of a four litre bowl of hot water and Fairy Liquid.

What better time to enquire of washing up tips and tricks than when I popped round dear old Nanette's for a quick bone china cup of Earl Grey. Nanette won't use anything other than bone china, not since her work on the Stepford Wives which gave her a new appreciation for frillies and presentation. Her solution may suprise you - and it's not 'rubber gloves'!

She employs what she calls 'a simply darling local chav'. I was amazed, somehow having missed this entire 'chav' subculture that's taken over the UK. I think it's probably because I don't venture into the rougher areas of the UK; in fact anything north of Norwich is a bit too wild for me, and I certainly wouldn't be seen dead in the streets of somewhere like Glasgow.

Apparently, and the secret's out now, the great thing about a chav dishwasher is you don't need to buy salt, they provide their own tablets (oh, how Nan and I laughed at that one!) and they usually have plenty of strapping teenage daughters called Tracy to take over if they're ill. Great stuff!

Sous Chef

On the advice of dear old Nigella, who had popped over with a batch of something quite unusual - black pepper shortbreads! - I've invested in a lovely new program for my Macintosh. It's called 'Sous Chef', and according to Nigella it's the best thing since sliced tea. She got quite giddy telling me about it, and insists that it's changed her life beyond recognition; no more hopping on and off of public transport for a packet of noodles - Nigella's apparently transfixed by this thing and just hopes they're going to support metric pretty soon. How nice!

The Glamorous World Of Mimsy Swallows

I've just returned home from an evening with Meena Patak, the well-known curry sauce and pickle mogul. She's quite the life and soul of the party, believe me, and when I told her my new recipe for naan breads with the minimum of fuss she simply insisted on me popping round to hers for a cup of masala chai and a quick kneading over the tandoor.

Anyway, as we were mopping up a selection of Meena's experimental pickles, she happened to mention the rise of cookery blogs, and suggested that I get onto the scene, tapping out my culinary expertise in a delicately-fragranced cloud of pink nail varnish and intensely stimulating high heels.

Here you go, Meena - this one's for you!