Cake of the week - A (Blackpool) football cake

This is one of those cakes that I thought up at the last minute. As I mentioned last week, it was husband's birthday on Tuesday and needed to make a cake. I decided I was going to cover it and do some design but I wasn't really sure what.

Suddenly I thought that perhaps I could make a Blackpool cake - for which I'd need tangerine (bright orange in other words) sugar paste. As I am not good at piping or intricate designs, I struggled as to what to do when I came up with the idea of using hexagonal tiles to make it look like a football, allowing some of the tangerine shine through.

All I had to do was make it. The cake was actually chocolate, from Ruth's recipe. As I have her book, I was so glad to see she's included a scaleable version of it in her new book with different quantities and cooking times for different sized tins because sometimes, you just don't have the right sized tin. I make this recipe a lot now; it's easy and it never lets me down.

Having made it and left it to cool on Monday afternoon, I decided I had better get it covered with sugarpaste that evening as I wouldn't have too much time to do cake decorating the next day. I am so glad I did as it then took me most of the rest of the evening. First, I had to colour my sugarpaste. This proved to be way harder than I thought and however much I added, it never seemed to reach the required shade, even when wrapping it and leaving for 10 mins to let the colour develop, as Ruth advises. And trying to work it in to the paste was harder work than kneading bread dough! Eventually, I gave up and settled for a pale orange colour - or maybe it's more peach. Lesson learned - bright colours need huge amounts of food colour.

Then I followed Ruth's instructions for covering the cake with sugarpaste. I now know that the secret is keeping the sugarpaste quite thick as this makes it easier to handle. After a big deep breath, I got it on the cake without rips or holes, and it looked pretty good. Result! By this time, it was past midnight but I thought I had better plough on.

The hexagonal tiles were a challenge. I would have preferred a hexagonal cutter but had no time to get one so I scaled a hexagon to the size I wanted, printed it out then once cut out, used it as a template to cut around, having rolled out some black and white sugarpaste. I placed the tiles gently on the top of the cake to figure out the pattern and after a few goes, I came up with a pattern I was happy with and I brushed where I was sticking each tile with a little water to stick them to the cake. By the time I'd finished, it was way past 1am and my kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it. According to Helen, that's early for cake makers! I left everything as I was very tired by then, but I went to bed with a sense of achievement that it looked quite good. And it tasted nice too!

What do you think?

Linking up with Helen's Cake of the Week feature.

Good, clean, scary fun – your chance to win a family ticket to Blackpool Tower Dungeons

We’re over in Blackpool quite a lot, largely because my husband grew up there and most of his family is still there or thereabouts. We don’t often visit as tourists, apart from the odd trip to one of the Blackpool attractions, because we mostly leave that to the grandparents as they take the children to see the Illuminations (normally involving sleepover, yay!). There are a lot of things to do in Blackpool – and I’ll be honest with you, most of it is not up my street, but the children love it.

Since 1^st September, there has been a new attraction to add to the growing list, the Blackpool Tower Dungeons – at the Blackpool Tower, obviously!  A new family attraction (although recommended for children over the age of 8), it takes you through 1000 years of Blackpool’s gruesome history, with 10 actor-led interactive and fun shows to help tell the stories, a scary drop ride, and because we’re in Lancashire, you can also visit the Pendle Witches and dodge the Witchfinder General.  The dungeon is intended to be educational, entertaining  - and good, clean, scary fun. (Well, I’m not sure about the clean, you’re in a dungeon after all; but you get my drift!)

I have a family ticket to the Blackpool Tower Dungeon to give away to one lucky reader of my blog for up to 2 adults and 2 children, remembering of course that it’s recommended for the over 8s. It’s also valid for London, York and Edinburgh venues so you don’t necessarily have to make the trip all the way to Blackpool if it’s not convenient for you.

To enter the competition, first ensure you’re subscribed to this blog via RSS (the orange jellybean above) or email (the red one), then leave me a comment below. I want you to tell me what the scariest thing you’ve ever done or experienced, and I’m not just talking ghosts!

If you want an additional entry (optional), then tweet the following:

I’ve entered to win a family ticket to the Blackpool Tower Dungeon on @kateab’s blog. Dare you enter too? http://bit.ly/v5eBeb

Then leave me a separate comment to let me know you have done. Please don’t forget to leave a valid form of contact so I can get in touch if you win!

Good luck!

Terms and conditions

To enter, leave a comment below, saying what the scariest thing is that you’ve ever done or experienced, along with a valid contact email address or Twitter ID, which will be used to contact you if you win.
An additional entry can be gained by tweeting as stated above.
Please ensure you follow this blog via RSS or email. 
Maximum two entries per person - multiple entries will be discarded. 
The prize is a family ticket (up to 2 adults and 2 children) to the Blackpool Tower Dungeon, although the ticket is also valid for the London, York and Edinburgh locations.

The competition closes on Saturday 26^th November at 8pm.
The winner will be drawn at random from all valid entries.
The winner will be contacted that evening and asked to provide a postal address and contact telephone number within 48 hours or the winner will be re-drawn.

UK entrants only.
There is no cash alternative.

Compare the Meerkat

I was completely stumped by this week's Gallery prompt of Mother Nature. It's not really a time of year to be out a lot with your camera and anyway, I am not one of the world's nature photographers. I don't have many pictures to fall back on, so had resigned myself to giving this week a miss.

And then, Garry from The Blog Up North published this forlorn picture. And it prompted a memory of a trip to the zoo of our own, admittedly completely different and somewhat lighter in mood. It's a bit of a cheat for the prompt, but I know there are often different interpretations. So shoot me.

Last May, I took the children to Blackpool Zoo on Spring Bank Holiday Monday. It was their first ever trip to a proper zoo although we'd taken them to a marine park in Portugal the year before. As my husband was working in the morning, the children and I did most of the trip on our own, wandering back and forth around the zoo, stopping and starting at random, allowing for loo stops, sandwich consumption, ice cream purchases, and chasing of birds. I forgot my camera in the rush to get myself, children and packed lunch ready but I did have my phone with me.

Monkey and Missy Woo loved seeing all the animals. There was, however, particular excitement when we found where the meerkats were housed. Maybe it's those ads, although I do have a recollection of Monkey saying he'd seen some at school on a DVD they'd played to his class. They couldn't wait to see them, and afterwards, they insisted I take this picture of them.

If my photography skills were halfway decent, you'd see that they were stood in front of a larger than life meerkat cutout. Try saying that without your teeth in.

Do you think they'd pass for the real thing if they snuck into the meerkat enclosure? Would Aleksandr sniff them out as impostors or are meerkats really simples and not notice? What do you reckon?

The Gallery - My favourite photo

This one's a particularly tough call and no mistake. The prompt for Week 31 of the Gallery is  "My favourite photo. And why". Now, I have lots of photos I love, but to pick out a favourite? Hmm...

And this week, there are two pieces of art up for grabs for the two best entries. The stakes are high, so it means making a choice. No more sitting on the fence for me; I have to make a decision for a change and blog about it.

First, I whittled it down to three pictures - which was not bad at all for a first cut  - then to two. Both of them have appeared on this blog before. One of them has been used for a previous Gallery entry. Predictably, both are of my children. But it meant choosing between them because one is of Monkey, and the other of Missy Woo. I don't like to choose between them but I've made my choice. In the interests of impartiality, I will include both pictures. I will be announcing them in the traditional fashion of reverse order.

The runner up is...

Missy Woo on Christmas Day 2007, with her new toy. I just love the look of sheer joy, mixed with more than a tinge of mischief, in her eyes. Iggle Piggle was one of the toys of the year that year but I got lucky and bought it in October when she (and I) first saw it in a shop. I managed to buy it when she wasn't looking and she was less curious in those days.

So, which means that the winner is...drum roll please...

Monkey! I've blogged about this picture before on this post, and I said at the time that I thought it was my favourite picture of him ever, but I've decided it is my absolute favourite photo of all.

The photo was taken of him by my husband on a coach going from Blackpool to Wembley. It was Monkey's second ever football match - and a trip to Wembley to the play off final. It was taken quite early in the morning on the coach down to London. What I love most about this photo are his eyes. I can almost feel the excitement and anticipation that he is feeling in this picture just by looking into them. I love the perspective that this gives - taken looking over the top of the seat behind where he was sat, which gives it a real 3D feeling to the photo. I love that it looks totally different if you turn the photo at right angles to the way it was taken. Most of all, I love that it is a picture of a little boy on a big adventure having a ball and that the promise of a special day was fulfilled.

Why not take a look at some of the other entries to this week's Gallery? There is bound to be a wide range of entries this week. Or maybe, have a go yourself. 

Parky

I was reading a blog post over the weekend, by Lisa at Mrs LJ Hall who was mulling over who would be her fantasy husband(s). It has given me the perfect opportunity to tell you about one of mine.

If you'd asked me in the late 90s, I would have said Gary Parkinson, without a doubt. Most of you are sitting looking blankly at the screen, saying "Wha'?" so I feel it my duty to include a picture of him, although it's not great. Gary - known as Parky, obviously - was a right back, who joined Preston from Burnley in 1997. The picture here shows him playing for Middlesbrough, much earlier in his career.

Now, I don't normally go lusting after footballers. As a fan, I am not the sort that goes to football to watch men's buttocks; I am genuinely interested in the football. But I became a big fan of Parky after a chance meeting one day in August 1998. It was Bank Holiday weekend and PNE were playing at Lincoln City. I drove up to Lincoln alone but was meeting a friend who was coming from Liverpool to see the match. I drove out to the point-to-point on the edge of the city to park there to meet my friend as they were going to be driving past so was a convenient place to stop.

When I pulled into the car park, I noticed the team coach. It was empty, apart from the driver. Being a) curious nosey and b) having time to kill, I wandered over, spoke to the driver and asked him if he'd already dropped the team off. He shook his head, pointed to a path and said, "They've gone for a walk." I walked around the corner, and sure enough, there was the whole squad and entourage wandering around. Gary was the first person I bumped into and he stopped to talk to me, for I was wearing both a PNE shirt and an utterly amazed look on my face. We chatted for a couple of minutes and he explained that the boss - David Moyes at the time - liked them to stretch their legs after a long journey before they got to the ground. He was quietly spoken and charming, with lovely twinkly eyes. After this brief chat, he apologised and said they had to leave. Stupidly, I never asked for any autographs but I got a few hellos as they traipsed back onto the bus and left. I'm not sure my friend totally believed me when they turned up about ten minutes later!

After that encounter, Parky became my fantasy husband. I think I met him again, briefly, at a Player of the Year awards ceremony a couple of years later and he was as charming as before. Unfortunately, about six months after I met him, he damaged his cruciate and was out for a year and never really featured regularly for Preston after that so I didn't often get my fix of my favourite player. He left PNE for Blackpool in 2001, normally a move that would generate a lot of bad feeling, but no-one could really begrudge him moving on at the age of 33. He helped them win promotion that season and then retired from playing a couple of years later. He got himself a job back at Blackpool as head of youth after qualifying as a coach.

This story does not have a happy ending. Earlier this month, I was utterly gutted to hear the news that Gary had suffered a massive stroke and was critically ill in hospital. Although he has improved, there are now fears that he is suffering from locked-in syndrome, whereby he is unable to move, speak or swallow but is aware of what is going on around them. It is early days in his rehabilitation but if confirmed, the prognosis is not good as most sufferers die within the first four months. A few manage to overcome it with specialist care; I'm hoping, praying even, that he's one of them. He's only 42 after all. My heart totally goes out to his wife Deborah and their three children as I can only imagine what they are going through right now. And as for Parky, I've tried to imagine what it might be like right now; to be aware of everything around you, and yet not be able to respond, to express emotions, to talk to loved ones or even to move. Boy, is it scary and frustrating - and yet, I can shake myself out of it a few seconds later, move, type, talk and generally express myself. To be like that 24x7 - well, the thought makes me shudder.

I'm hoping in the months to come that there will be some fundraising to help either him or stroke-related causes. Thus far, I haven't found anything on the Blackpool FC website (and yes, I did check it; I am not proud). A donation to The Stroke Association, a charity that supports research into prevention and treatment of strokes as well as providing information, advice and support to stroke victims, may well be in order. If any event is set up in Parky's name, I will be supporting it wholeheartedly and I'll tell you about it here. If anyone knows of any event set up in his name, please let me know because I would love to be involved.

In the meantime, I prefer to remember Parky as the player and the lovely, genuine man that he was. That doesn't mean I am not hoping for the miracle recovery he deserves because I am crossing everything that it happens. But he will remain my fantasy husband. Get well soon, Parky. You are in my thoughts.

Football rivalries: not in front of the children!

I'm not from Preston, so I never understood why I must "hate" Blackpool FC . In this house, hating Blackpool is not good for marital / family harmony, as my husband is from Blackpool and Monkey has been to Wembley with him. Nor does my husband "hate" PNE either. It generates a bit of banter, but that's it. We are reunited in a greater dislike of another Lancashire (Burnley) but truly, I don't "hate" them.

Football rivalries are usually logical. They're local - look across the city or down the road, find the nearest team and there you go. Instant hatred. Hence , in Lancashire, there's Burnley and Blackburn "hating" in one corner and Preston and Blackpool in the other, even tho Preston and Blackburn are closest together. There is rivalry but not in an "all-police-leave-cancelled-and-away-supporters-must-arrive-on-coaches" way.

Rivalries also develop through "familiarity breeds contempt"- you don't play your rivals as you're in different divisions so the next local team you play regularly does instead. Hence my dislike of Burnley although Francis Stanley Ternent has a lot to answer for (Look him up if you must; try a recording of his voice .... *winces*).

Some are less easy to fathom. One of my regular readers won't like this, but I could cheerfully never attend a match involving Gillingham ever again. For many years, whenever PNE changed division, Gillingham came with us. Matches involving the teams were turgid affairs and Gillingham were responsible for my two worst football moments. The first was a play-off semi final defeat at Priestfield in 1999 where I shouted myself hoarse in frustration for 90 minutes. The second was the first game of the 2001-2002 season - you know, the one where hope springs eternal. We got thrashed 5-0. I left at 4-0, and I got sunburn for good measure. In the UK, many such rivalries are rooted in the bad days of hooliganism.

In Spain, they have their own word for the passion generated by rivalries. Morbo. It doesn't translate into English well, although Phil Ball in his brilliant book "Morbo: The Story of Spanish Football" tries. The rivalries to beat all rivalries in Spain is between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid; huge rivals as well as two of the biggest teams in the world. The basis of their rivalry goes way beyond football - FC Barcelona is often seen as the flagship of the Catalan people who want independence from Spain, whereas Real is seen to represent the Spanish state and, in Franco's days, the Generalisimo's team. God help anyone that leaves one club for the other. The last one that did, Luis Figo, had half a pig's head (how?) and several mobile phones (why?) thrown at him at the Nou Camp when the teams met for the first time after his transfer.

I guess these rivalries make football interesting for the neutral and important for the passionate fan. But I have a problem with them. It is that these rivalries foster incredible hatred. "Hate" is a word I try not to use these days now that I have small children with pin-sharp selective hearing and an ability to copy more finely honed than Xerox. As an adult, you can use the word to other adults and know it won't get taken the wrong way. As a mother with children learning the ways of the world, hate is too emotive a term. I may not be perfect at it, but I try not to say it. It doesn't stop them using the word from time to time - Monkey, in his mock teenager stroppy moments when tired after school, has been known to shout "I hate you" at me from the back of the car when I have dared to refuse his myriad demands. He gets reminded that you say "I don't like you" - and then I tell him I don't like him much sometimes, but everyone has moments like that.

I'm sure many parents do the same sort of thing. I'm sure parents who are football fans do too. But when it comes to rivalries in football, people often seem to lose their sense of proportion. It seems like children of some fans are raised to "hate" their rivals. They learn to hate someone because of the team they support or the town (or country - let it not be forgotten that many England fans still hate Germany, some of which stems back to a war won 65 years ago) where they were born or reside. It's localised xenophobia, as random as hating someone because of the colour of their skin, the religion they follow or their sexuality, all of which are illegal. Surely, this is no better? But it goes on, all over the world, all the time. We think the days of mindless football violence have gone but only last August, there was mass violence at the first match between West Ham and Millwall for 5 years and a supporter got stabbed. Why is that right? And don't think our kids don't see it. They do. Children can be subjected to bad language and hatred at any game as Julia bemoaned in her post last week. The picture on her post says it all - a small child, making an obscene gesture clearly aimed at rival supporters, dressed in a replica kit.

The FA's Respect campaign aims to address all unacceptable behaviour, on and off the pitch, at all levels of the game and the hatred that these rivalries stir up is part of the football culture that is unpalatable to most (I hope!). It deserves to succeed so our children can enjoy the game that many of us love without encountering unnecessary hatred like this.

Football is, by its very nature, a tribal and passionate game, whether it is played at the local park or at Wembley. Let's keep the passion, lose the hatred and hope our children enjoy healthy rivalries in football that are tolerant and yes, respectful.

(The link to Morbo on Amazon is not an affiliate link; I just think the book is a brilliant read.)

The Gallery - A memory (in the making possibly).

This week's prompt for the Gallery over at Sticky Fingers was "A memory". Having had a busy few days (when haven't I?), I haven't had time to go back through the photo archives and dig out an old pic which evokes memories.

I decided instead to turn it on its head and show you photos that aren't memories for me, but are likely to be memories for Monkey. A bit of background first. I am a Preston fan, and my husband is from Blackpool. The teams are big rivals. It is not generally the done thing for the two to "associate". When Monkey was born, we decided he would support Barcelona - our Spanish team and something we can agree on.

One of my very first posts on this blog was about taking Monkey to his first ever live football match, at Preston. He's grown increasingly obsessed with football recently and wanted to go to a match. I chose an appropriate day, we went and he had a great time. It was a month off the end of the season when we went. Blackpool made the play-offs, and Monkey got very excited. The second leg of the semi final was in the evening so he had to go to bed reluctantly. His first words to me the following morning were "Did Blackpool win?" and when I said yes, his next words were "Can I go to Wembley to the final?". Before 8am, he'd rung Daddy at work to ask him the same thing and was told "Probably, but we'll see." Well, that was good enough for him. He went to school that morning and told the class and the teachers that he was going to Wembley with his Dad. I think the whole school knew.

Soon, it was organised that half of the family would go to Wembley and that a large proportion would go on the coach, and that side of the family is not small. I think I worked out that 20 of them on one coach were related to or associated with the family! This was good as it meant that there were several people to entertain Monkey on the trip. Anyway, here are the pictures of Monkey's day out - his first trip on a coach, his second ever live football match, and his first trip to Wembley.

On the coach! 

I think this is my favourite picture of Monkey ever. I just love the look of excitement in his eyes. They set off by car very early and were on a coach by around 7ish. It was a long journey and only just made it into the stadium on time. During the game, Monkey was apparently really good and was not afraid of the noise created by over 80,000 people.

We won, Dad!

This picture was taken in the ground after the final whistle blew and Blackpool had won a place in the Premier League. That's Daddy with Monkey by the way. Please excuse the trilby. I actually posted a link to this photo on my facebook profile and you wouldn't believe the furore it created. Someone (a Preston fan) took offence to it and then he got jumped on by lots of my friends after I pointed out he was dissing my family. It's a lovely picture, it's my family and I'll do what I want. He even got shouted down by other Preston fans.

Looking on....

The final picture is of Monkey watching the post-match celebrations intently. It looks to me like he is taking it all in, like he is storing it all away to play over again and again in his head at will.

The day was long. They didn't get back to Blackpool until late and they got home around midnight. Monkey was still very excited but was still well behaved and full of talk about the day. He went to bed one happy boy that night.

He's getting a season ticket for this season and going with his Dad whenever they can. I fear I may have lost him as a Preston fan - although he has Hamburg, England and Barcelona tops to wear and bought Manchester United pyjamas last week, so there is still hope. 

These may not be my memories but I have looked through the eyes of a boy at an age where first memories stick. Your second live football match and a winning trip to Wembley is a pretty memorable event at any age, isn't it?

This is my entry for week 23 of The Gallery at Sticky Fingers. If you can, please visit the page and visit some of the other entries. I just love looking at people's different takes on the same prompt.