For the Love of Tiara & Liverpool Tattoo Convention

It all is down to the fact that I am hankering after a tiara.

Not too long ago, my dear friend on Facebook managed to convince me that I needed to fly the flag of the older women and enter myself for the Miss Tattoo competition at the Liverpool Tattoo Convention. I was going to the convention anyway as I was booked to have the most epic tattoo by Katriona MacIntosh, who has been nominated Best Newcomer.

So, I entered myself. The selection process was pretty simple. You post up your chosen photo with a little blurb about yourself. The public can then vote and the ten with the most votes would go through to the next round. So here was my entry. I was somewhat hit by a onslaught of prosaic diarrhoea and wrote this lengthy blurb in some vain attempt to make myself feel more credible as a candidate.

My interest in tattoos spans over a period of almost 20 years, sparked initially when I spent a few years of my childhood in Borneo before it was subjected to inevitable modernisation. As a child I found the permanent skin etchings on the Dayaks and Ibans intriguing. Actual skin doodles that No mother could scrub off with soap and water!

Over the years, I have collected a substantial amount of tattoos, starting on skin not so publicly visible and moving on to areas which are difficult to cover up. I am quite heartened that I have yet to be publicly scorned for my tattoos and have never been discriminated against because of them.

I have had several career changes in my life, from being a teacher to working as a midwife for 7 years and now owning my own bakery. In between, I have paused momentarily (several times!) to have my children. All this while acquiring more and more ink and not allowing the perceived, yet questionable stigma of being a tattooed woman to hinder whichever path I choose to take.

My Japanese leg sleeves are by Darren Stares, they are still work in progress as is my Saira Hunjan backpiece. Other pieces by Nico of Softmachine, Emma Grech, DannyBoy of Inksmiths of London and Glenn Symonds. I have others planned and often chortle silently to myself when people appear bemused when I tell them that I am not done yet. Not close. I’d like to think that I represent that section of the society to whom getting tattooed is not a passing phase of the young and rebellious. Being tattooed to me is about filling in the blanks, owning the skin I am in and finding solace in the permanence of the ink.

In my spare time, I participate in roller derby and love to nurse the bruises and grazes I get from it. I will be at the Brighton Tattoo Convention this year with my Whipped & Baked tattoo inspired cupcake stall. Come and say hello to me.

And I don’t know if it were my wit or my ankles, I made it through to the next round. The next round was pretty much the same. People had to vote again, and despite the slightly tricky process of having to register and wait for a confirmation email, which invariably ended up in everyone’s spam filter, I actually made it through to the final 10.

So here is the bit that I didn’t quite consider the implications of. The final is at Liverpool Tattoo Convention. By a panel of judges. On a stage. In front of EVERYONE. And I’ll have to introduce myself and all, and actually avoid snorting into the microphone or giggling like the village idiot.

Whilst the are people who are congratulating me for my go get ‘em approach to life, I am silently face palming myself. Since opening the bakery, my hair has been tucked up in a baking snood. It’s been weeks since I’ve worn high heels and what’s worse is, I literally have NO eyelashes left. I’ve somehow managed to dust my eyes with icing sugar every time I’m making icing and then caramelising my eyelashes when opening the door to a hot oven. Yum. Crunchy lashes.

So, I’m trying to remind myself that this isn’t a beauty contest. As I would never consider myself as befitting to enter a beauty contest. No one who is careless and carefree enough to accidentally shave their eyebrow when giving their hair an undercut is ever going to be beauty contest material.
And I intermittently remind myself, that as a heavily tattooed woman who has been collecting ink for over 20 years, I’ve pretty much shown that the very fact that I am tattooed has never hindered me from getting what I want, or doing what I want. The career progression from teacher to midwife to baker sets a great example of this. Even now, with the bakery, my ink is publicly visible and it doesn’t seem to bother anyone. Not outwardly at least. I’m being judged for the work I produce and by how I conduct myself with others – that should always be the case for everyone. And that is what this competition is all about, it’s about women who are inked who are being positive role models.

Rewinding to the fact that I hardly have any eyelashes anymore, to match my one non-existent eyebrow, you’ll be pleased to know that I have found ways of coping. It ain’t pretty and it’ll show me up as a somewhat vain individual but guys, eyelashes are important, they’re like windshields for your eyes. So I got myself eyelash extension.

Katrina, my beautician at Glorious Spa is now my new bestie. What a conjurer of miracle she is. Never mind that even she looked surprised when she told me that the fake lashes actually looked good on me. She can do no wrong in my (fluttery lashed) eyes.

I’m not sure if I’ll manage another post before I leave for Liverpool late on Friday. I’m making contingency plans. I’m the oldest by about 10 years at least and with more children than all of them put together, I suspect. There’s no way I’m going to win. So tomorrow, I am going to the toy shop and I’m buying myself a Barbie tiara.

Just watch me.

Flourvonsponge Goes To Her First Auction

It’s been a whirlwind of a few weeks. The thing is, I’ve probably started many a blog post with that statement but by heck, this time I’ve really earned it. However for now, let’s talk about the other things. The things which are not the bakery, or the baking or the cakes.

I went to my first auction. Apparently I went to a really good one. I was dispatched by Slaveboy with a list of furniture we were interested in along with a maximum bid price for each item. I arrived early, stood at the back and was pretty much frozen solid in time, for for that if I scratched my nose, or twiddled my thumbs, such act might be mistaken for a bid. Silly I know, and irrational considering there were people fiddling about, eating their sandwiches and reading the newspaper.

But stood I did. For a little less than three hours. I didn’t want to miss my lots, you see.

And I think I witnessed a momentous event. I saw this come up for bidding. I poo-pooed it as some small ugly brown vase with fancy handles. Akin to a sixth former’s attempt at pottery. I wouldn’t have given it house and the owner certainly didn’t think much of it either as the reserve price was placed at £100.

It sold for £66,000.

Sixty six thousand pounds.

At the time it went to press, the owner was still away and unreasonable, and he was going to come home to the news that his vase had sold for 66K.

I texted Slaveboy about the vase that sold for £66,000. He promptly texted back reminding me that I need not spend quite as much.

As if.

As the dust settles

Well, SniffSnorters, all I seem to be doing at the moment is bake brownies. We are selling dozens of the stuff. I had this self indulgent idea that I would be rolling out a magnificent array of baked decadence that would showcase my skills but the reality is, Chichester just loves brownies. Especially cheesecake brownies.
Within a week of opening, we has people come in requesting the cheesecake brownies, even when there went any on display.
There are lots of things we have yet to catch up with. We still don’t have a till. Or an A board. Or a sign above the bakery. Apparently these would encourage business but seeing that we sold out of cakes by 2:30pm last Saturday, I’m not sure we are ready to deal with even more customers just yet.
There has been a lot of goodwill and enthusiasm from the general public. They seem to get our ‘local’ ethos and appreciate our quirky approach to running a business.
Today has been the first day we’ve had to juggle childcare for the youngest 3. Normally, when I wake up to go to the bakery, the little ones are still asleep and today I managed to fit in some baking until 10:15, which was when I needed to get back to take over the childcare from an older child.
The baking is intense, I’m still feeling my way around it and I’m yet to settle in a conclusive baking schedule.
If you’re interested in keeping more current with what I’m to, I have a Facebook page for Whipped & Baked here.
And you know what bugs me the most? Above the crazy amount of baking and the lack of sleep?
I had a vision that I would be über glamourous and wear my favourite PVC pencil skirt as my baking uniform but the reality is, most mornings, if I could roll into work in my pyjamas, I would.

2 weeks and a bit

This post is fuelled by the mantra something is better than nothing.

It’s been just over two weeks since the bakery first opened its door and we’ve been running to stand still. Despite all our convictions that things would start flow and build up to a steady momentum, we have found ourselves rushed off our feet and really testing the limits of our raw drive to want to make this work.

I’m not going to go into to much details tonight and I promise a more lengthy post during the weekend (hopefully) where I might talk about just how most of my baking time has been monopolised by making my cheesecake brownies which seem to be flying out of the bakery when just barely cool enough to cut.

There are a few things I’ve learnt.

Dishes. Bins. Floors. These things don’t get cleaned by themselves. You would have thought by now I’d got to grips with this notion.

I need an A board. I know this. You know this. My customers ALL know this and by golly, half of them have made sure that they know that I know this.

Over-frothed milk really does smell like dried egg whites. Not nice.

Open plan kitchens are great until you mistake the bicarbonate of soda for baking powder. Then your kitchen looks like a failed science lab lesson run by the substitute P.E. teacher. EVERYONE can see the mistakes you make.

On that note, I’ll share the second attempt of the failed baking endeavour above. It was all ok in the end.

Word of mouth is spreading about Whipped & Baked bakery and I have so much to share with you. I have ideas, musings and some if I could redo some bits moments to share with you but that will be coming at a later date.

Until then, do keep in touch via my Facebook page.

Sleep well.

28.02.13

We opened yesterday.

And I’m still alive.

The eve of the opening, we took delivery of a radiogram, a bass cabinet, several valves and other things. These items were in the front of the bakery some 10 hours before we were due to open.

But we overcame in. We were busy. Lots of lovely friends and family cake to visit and I’m sure I has this insipid grin on my face for most part of the day.

Will write in more details but here are some pictures.

Plus Seventeen Days (and we are almost there!)

Dinner update: Tonight’s dinner was a culinary delight. We had chicken kiev (not home made) with rice, and pretend peas as Izzy The Rockstar forgot to buy some when he went to do the shopping. I fear rickets might set in and I just simply will not be knowledgable enough to identify it.

The bakery is almost done. I’m not sure what lessons I have learnt from this experience but one thing I am sure, more money would have soothed the process beautifully. However, I could be philosophical and think that perhaps I would appreciate it more because we did most of the work ourselves and took the time to get the finer details to how we want them to be but flipping heck, it’s been really hard work and there is still more to come before we can open the doors officially.

I’m currently sitting in a pub, enjoying a glass of Coke and a packet of over salted crisps. I have my painting jeans on and I still have gloss paint in my hair. I’ve managed to get the personal wifi password from the bartender and I’m surrounded by younglings discussing £100 tracksuits. Slaveboy is sound engineering for the night’s Open Mic Night.

All this to distract myself from trying to figure out how to get the 7th Wonder (aged almost 3) to take her Ramones tee shirt off so I can wash it. It’s been many many many days.

Here goes some photos.

The children, plus Firstborn’s boyfriend carried the chest of drawers from our house, which is about 100 paces from the bakery. I wanted to do away from the pre-fabricated shop counter look and Slaveboy did well in acquiring furniture which he then upcycled into counters.

Here’s the Small Shouty One showing off the custom made knickers cushions that my friend, Lindy of Busy Fingers made. I think they look fab.

Excuse the yellow sponge on the floor. Firstborn was cleaning the floor with it and at the same time doing her ballet exercises. I’d only noticed it when I was editing the image.

We also started giving the big window a clean. I’m pleased to share that my legendary wax on wax off window cleaning moves were much appreciated by the passers-by.

I found a great use for all the business cards I collected from tattoo artists over the years. I’ve always wanted the bakery to draw its inspiration from the tattoo world but I was keen to showcase how much tattoo art has developed and evolved into a viable artform in its own right. To do away from the pre-conceived idea that tattoo art is substandard, crude and lacking depth.

I’ve finally arrived to a decision as to when I plan to open. I’ll share it with you all soon. Once the gloss paint dries. Until then, have a good night. I’m back to eavesdropping on a conversation between a group of early 20s who are declaring vehemently that Imagine was originally an Elton John’s song.

I despair.

Plus Two Weeks

To say I’m not exhausted would be a lie. I’ve been passing out on the sofa midday (if left alone for five minutes, been tetchy and then failing to properly sleep for another couple of hours after I’ve put myself to bed.

Most of the work at the bakery is almost done. I only have some freshly grouted tiles to clean in the kitchen and after that, it will be the mammoth undertaking of cleaning EVERYTHING. I’ve done this several times, and so have others. It lasts until one of us decides that we need to haul out something from the garage or from the cellar. Then the cleaning has to start all over again.

I won’t lie and say it’s been thoroughly enjoyable. It’s been bloody hard work and the weird thing is, I’m more weary than I am tired. The project, being so tightly budgeted, leaves very little room for error and at times, the first decision can’t be anything but the only decision, like it or not. So, we are having to really exercise our creative thinking and visualising and take huge leaps of faith with a lot of the decisions we have made.

But. And this the saving grace Mother of a big but, we have been extremely lucky. The Grade 2 listed building that is the bakery has not thrown us any troubles. Everything we have tried to do the building has appeared to welcome it. I know I know. It sounds hippie drippy.

We have one more day of Percy The Pirate tidying up the last bits of work needed doing and the building will be wholly ours to sort out. Much as I love Percy, it’s a bit like having a live-in maid when I was living with my Mother in Malaysia – you could never quite feel at home.

During the time spent sanding down doors and glossing skirting boards, I’ve been mentally listing what I would do differently if I had to do it all over again. Besides having triple the amount of budget of course. One of these days, when the dust settles (quite literally), I think I might write a post on that.

Until then, I’m pleased to announce that the vonSponge family is still going strong despite living on a diet of fluffy pancakes and maple syrup. We have an extremely tired Potato Bottom who’s still transitioning into life at the Performing Arts Schools. Mondays are a real killer for her – she’s there for 11 hours, the majority of those hours actually dancing. Lalla is caught up with regional level diving competition training and her Level 3 interview tomorrow for her Further Education course. Izzy The Rockstar is snowed under with essay writing, interview preparation for his Higher National Diploma course, his upcoming gig (plus his debut rehearsal with Slaveboy’s band) and slight panic about filling in University funding forms. Firstborn is reconsidering her decision about university and doggedly working at her photography. All this in the last one week while Zak Cool (aged 10) is now more often than not the oldest sibling around during the day time, the 7th Wonder leaving a trail of toy destruction around the house and her very own personal assault course designed to surprise us whenever we go down the stairs.

And The Small Shouty One is in love.

And his name is Adam.

And apparently he’s coming over Saturday for drinks and cake.

I don’t think his mother is aware of this but I doubt I’ll be finding an unchaperoned 6 year old at my doorstep very soon.

Here are some photos. In no discerning order.

Hey Ho, Let’s Go

The 7th Wonder was pretty made up yesterday and has been so for 24 hours or so. Whilst out shopping with The Small Shouty One, where we purchased froufrou skirts and Hello Kitty socks, Slaveboy found a Ramones tee shirt identical to the one which 7th Wonder had outgrown a year ago.

Firstborn, a.k.a. Barnerbread recognised a great photo opportunity and managed to get 7th Wonder to agree to a photo shoot – it normally doesn’t take much persuading really. She decided on the retro Care Bear herself and after several attempts to get her to smile, Firstborn just told her to be natural.

I think it’s an awesome photo, and I just wanted to share this with you. I’ve got stories to tell about the bakery and how close we are to opening, about Potato Bottom deciding to join a dance school and also about last night when some random woman in a pub asked me if I would take her to the toilets and show her ALL of my tattoos but for now, I think this photo deserves the spotlight.

She’s posted a couple of photos and they seem to have brought upon a certain level of nostalgia in various people because of the retro CareBear.

Guest Post: Spiker Gets A Job

At the moment, I’m pretty chuffed with my fwend, Spiker. She’s only gone and got herself a job. OK, so granted she got the job around early December last year and it’s only taken her employers til around last week to finally give her the all clear to actually turn up for work but who cares, I now finally have a friend whose skills are being paid for in real money, rather than in cakes and cups of coffee.
Let me tell you a bit about Spiker. She’s my age-ish. Around 6 foot 9 with her CFM boots on. If you don’t know what CFM means, then I say hello and welcome to you because you must be a new reader. I like to imagine her spending her time dressed in jodhpurs and silky satin fitted blouses with her hair in a chignon and her stern glasses on, but I suspect many, many men spend their time imagining the same.
Spiker also has a collection of crazy pets which don’t appear to have been briefed appropriately on just how pets should function. She also holds a permanent car parking space in my drive and tolerates me when I insist of experimenting with colourful cocktails and does very well at not laughing at me when I fall over.
I said to Spiker a while back that she must write a post for my blog and the woman has done it.

There’s been a rumour going round that my job or rather my *job* is in a similar category to that of imaginary friends – that is, I’ve made it up and it doesn’t actually exist. And because the start date to my *job* has been put back, postponed and rearranged many times (which is what lead to the rumours starting in the first place), Sponge boldly promised me I could have a guest post on Sniff and Snort when it materialized – as a sort of celebration. As rash promises go, I think it was quite a good deal. I, in turn have promised to buy her some chips and gravy and possibly a drink involving something blue when I get my first paycheque.
I have now attended my *job* for a total of 6 whole days but a bit like calculating dog years, when you work in the NHS, 6 days seems a lot longer. It occurred to me that since both Sponge and I are trying to be proper grown ups with jobs, there ought to be a lot of similarities in what we are doing.

Similarities:
We’re both working really hard and making numerous decisions all day.
Both finishing each day exhausted.
We both work with great people who appreciate cake.

Differences:
Sponge can actually see the progress she has made.
Sponge can use all of her time effectively.
Sponge does not have to play musical cars.

Let me explain musical cars to you: I work in a team which sees people both in the hospital and in their own homes. Our office is in the hospital but driving is essential to our work. There is a 10 year waiting list for a parking permit and all the roads surrounding the hospital have different residential parking restrictions. So I can park on one street till 10am, then I have to move for an hour. If I manage to park at the other end of the road I can park there for 2 hours but cannot return for 2 hours. If I fail to get a space there, I have little option but to park several miles away or try and get a space in the visitor’s car park which is pretty expensive. The afternoon is the same and so as we sit in the office our work is punctuated continuously with people suddenly realising the time and racing off to move their cars. Most of the staff have received fines at various times and this occurs when you are in the middle of an important phone call and you cannot drop everything to race off and move your car.

Something I will never cease to find hilarious is the look on the faces of people who have never worked for the NHS when they hear that this is how we work. Of course luckily for me, I know this great person who makes these treacle brownies which can make it all better (whilst knocking you out for much of the day).

Disclaimer: Spiker has not received monetary rewards for this post. In fact, she’s buying me chips & gravy when her first paycheque arrives.

Plus Two Days

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

Quick one, SniffSnorters. I’m sneaking in a post. The household is livelier than usual this morning as Potato Bottom is having two trial days doing full time at a Performing Arts school. We spent last night roasting whole chickens when we discovered we had nothing put in her packed lunch.

Today, will be a busy day. Percy The Pirate will be buffing the tiles and installing the surface for the coffee machine and sinks. He’ll be sorting out the plumbing and measuring up for the serving counters. The coffee machine is arriving and I’m meeting with the tea supplier. Even the elusive oven delivery might make an appearance by the end of tomorrow.

I had an almost glorious day yesterday. I managed to sneak out into town, if only to go to the bank to open a business bank account (a bit of bolting the door after the horse has flee or however the saying goes, I’m not English so English sayings come hard to me. I’ve also been sorting out an Orange PocketLandline account, a service which provides your business with a landline number with comparative call cost without you having to have a physical phone line connection.

As far as tiredness levels go, I’d say it’s about 11 on a scale of 10. I’ve stopped having coherent conversations with Slaveboy around five days ago and this is a perfect reason why complex plans like opening a bakery should not be drawn out on the back of an envelope because two months later, when tiredness hits you, the chances of you deciphering your etchings will be near on impossible.

Here are a couple of photos. One of Percy just as he finished the tiling (he hated it!) and another of an old 1933 Ordnance map of Chichester we found while clearing the bakery. I think we will be fra
Onwards and upwards, people. See you tomorrow

D Day (except it’s not)

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

We wanted to be opened by yesterday. Except I filled in the local Council’s food business registration a week later than intended which meant we legally could not open on the 1st of the month. Theoretically we should be opening on the 9th but somehow, I don’t think we will be ready by then. Instead we are having friends over to the bakery on the 9th for coffee taster session and aim to be open to the public on the 12th.

Saturday saw Slaveboy and I going over to Goring-by-Sea to pick up a purple sofa from a friend’s house. This sofa is well travelled, having been the set sofa for a New Orleans TV show and then travelling across the pond for a quaint but quirky life in Sussex. This friend is a fairly newly acquired one and sadly (for us) she is moving her family back to America, a move that she is very excited about. I do hope she doesn’t mind me mentioning her on here as I merely wanted to ponder upon how busy and hectic life gets with a family, home educating and raising teens that it’s taken the pick up of a sofa to make me realise that I have totally missed out on an opportunity to create a better friendship with her. So there we were, in the midst of her trying to organise her packing, exchanging a potted history of our lives and making plans to try harder to keep in touch.

Saturday also involved going to Ike-argh. It was stressful and that was before Slaveboy realised they weren’t serving meatballs on the cafe menu that day. Despite me having been organised with having product numbers listed down, it still didn’t stop us from getting very confused and fighting over whose will to live was lost first.

It was also Lalla’s invitational diving competition where she was up against 18 divers aged 14 to 18. Lalla mentioned that she just hoped that she wouldn’t place in the bottom 7 and that the chances of her gaining any medals were non-existent. Both Slaveboy and I got to the venue just in time for the start of her category and it wasn’t long before Slaveboy was growling at the commentator for repeatedly pronouncing Lalla’s name wrong.

There’s something about watching diving competitions. Each dive lasts mere seconds and if you blink, you stand the chance of missing it. It had been a while since I last saw Lalla dive and I was astounded to watch her do a double somersault inward dive. She’s certainly progressed much further than I had realised.

The wait for the results was tedious. We knew she had done reasonably well but we weren’t sure. Lalla had to be stopped by her coach from leaving straight after her last dive because she initially thought she’d done badly. It was only when she realised that they were about to announce the top 10 divers and her name had yet to be called that she perked up. Lalla placed 2nd with 3 points between her and the Gold medalist and her third dive was the highest scoring in her category.

Personally, I spent much of that competition, laying on the guilt on myself for having been so distracted by the bakery that I knew Lalla hadn’t quite received the support she could have needed. There’s a lot to be said about young adults who are so inwardly focused that the drive doesn’t need to rallied from others, it’s actually become ingrained.

But anyway, here are some photos. It’s late and I’m too tired to label them.

Three Days…. But who’s counting?

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

We all have stinking colds. The builder. Firstborn. Slaveboy. Yours truly. The house has truly fallen apart, laundry unwashed and sproglets have had to live on a diet of waffles, slow cooked brisket and aerated cream (not at the same time, I hasten to add).

Most days, I don’t even get to say five words to Slaveboy without it involving him telling me that we are x many tiles away from finishing or me telling him we are x many ££££ short. I also spent some time considering marital courting via text messages to keep the marriage fresh and keen.

There’s been more tiling. Finalising logo. Fantasising about wallpaper. Having the wooden floor sanded and varnished.

These guys did a sterling job.

The wooden floor had never seen the light of day at all.

Between the sproglets who’ve stepped up to the challenge and kept the home fire burning (literally) and regular refreshment at our local pub, The Park Tavern, we’ve been kept quite sane and pretty motivated.

We’ve picked up some snazzy low tables from the local drum shop.

These are going to look perfect with the purple sofa we are picking up this weekend.

I found the typo slightly amusing.

So this weekend, both Slaveboy and I will be off to Southampton’s Ikea where there would be a race to see who would lose the will to live first thus more deserving of the hotdog and at the same time we will be catching 15 year old Lalla compete in her diving completion.

Hopefully next week will see the oven delivery, the kitchen tiled and the counters built.

Yes, I do believe in fairies.

And so should you.

O.M.G. Ten Days!!!!!

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

And breathe!!!
Realistically, we have a week on top of that as I was a week behind registering the business with the local Council.

Last week has been crazily, stupidly busy. We were at the Brighton Tattoo Convention during the weekend and I singlehandedly baked 408 cupcakes, 200 squares of various flavoured brownies and made gum drops, cotton candy marshmallows, vanilla fudge and butterscotch peanut butter squares.

And we sold out of them all by 3pm Sunday.

I has grand plans to take photos but we were so rushed off our feet and I also had a sneaky tattoo on Sunday.

The bakery is coming along leaps and bounds now. Tiling is halfway done and last night, we had the flooring laid. Today, the electrician is coming in to install additional lights and the Monday, we are having the wooden flooring sanded and varnished.

I’ve ordered the ovens, we have finalised the final design of the counters and wooden crates have been bought for the bread display.

So, excuse me for just trying to get this post out but if I don’t get this done now, who knows when you’ll hear from me next.

Seventeen Days (and it’s Valentine’s)

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

Both Slaveboy and I had lasagne and cheese topped roasted potatoes at our local pub, Park Tavern last night. Had we our wits about us then, we could have pretended it was our Valentine’s meal out but Slaveboy was covered in dust and I with icing sugar and neither one of us could actually string two words together to make a coherent sentence. That was how tired we were.

Our vinyl flooring did indeed arrive yesterday but only for us to discover after the truck had left, that the roll was damaged.

Cue me emailing the company photos of the damage last night and thankfully, they called this morning to say they’re sending a replacement roll for Monday.

The mammoth job of baking for this weekend’s Brighton Tattoo Convention starts today. I have 432 cupcakes to bake but first I’m sorting out the frostings and decorations.

So far I’ve spilled oil on the draining board. Almost took Slaveboy’s eye out by accidentally opening a kitchen cupboard in his face. And undercooked the chicken curry. I believe I actually spoke a whole sentence in the correct sentence structure to one child today.

Tomorrow I’m off to set up my cupcake stand at the Hilton Metropole for the Brighton Tattoo Convention. Percy the Pirate, our builder will be commencing with the tiling tomorrow. I might have told you this already but the start of this post feels like a very long time ago.

Eighteen Days

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

I’ve just missed a phone call from a blocked number. All day we’ve been waiting for a delivery arriving in a rather large truck and what with the debacle of the closed road, we’re quite anxious about making sure the delivery does actually get here.

Our very own builder, Percy the Pirate has been over sorting out just how many tiles we need to order for the preparation area of the bakery. The floor at the bakery is drying well but it’s still going to need another day before we can actually step on it.

Sometime next week, we are going to arrange for a friend of Slaveboy’s to come sand and varnish the wooden floor on the right hand side of the premises.

Things are beginning to look like they will be gathering momentum and I suspect by the end of next week, we will be seeing a vast difference to the place.

Meanwhile, I’ve been making gumdrops. It’s a sticky affair and I still have 3 more batches to cut. Thank God, I have my friend, Spiker helping me pass the time by facebooking me pictures of hideous work shoes. It affords me the chance to refine my sarcastic streak.

Nineteen Days (uh huh)

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made with al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

Let the chaos start!
It’s 3 days to the Brighton Tattoo Convention and Day One of my prep work for it. Today I’ve been making gum drops, fudge and cotton candy marshmallows – all for my stall at the convention. I’ve yet to alter the dress l’ll be wearing to the convention (it’s a halter neck and I can’t stand things around my neck) but no worries, at least I have my shoes sorted.

Yesterday was a day of doing the ingredients shopping for the convention. Slaveboy and I also had a quick look at the local 2nd hand furniture outlet and it was a good day for us as we found the furniture perfect for upcycling. We decided to creatively upcycle pre-loved furniture into counters for the bakery as I wanted to avoid the pre-fabricated off the catalogue look for the bakery. They’ll be delivered next Monday, ready for Percy our very talented joiner.

We’ve been busy getting the self levelling floor primer for the bakery done today. We did it ourselves purely to save cost as flooring is one component of the refit that the budget can’t quite extend to getting other people to do it.

I took a few photos. Apologies for the dull overcast photos, the weather has been grim in Chichester.

View from the front door

View from the kitchen

I even took a couple of photos of the outside of the bakery – the road closure and the view of the park opposite the bakery.

Twenty One Days

In a nutshell: After several years of deliberating about it, I’m finally taking the plunge and opening a bakery in Chichester. The dream is to have a bakery which sells decadent cakes made with al ingredients, sourced as locally as possible. The perfect time finally came along when a shop premises that has been in our family for over three generations finally became available again. These posts will chronicle our process of getting the shop reading for opening, hopefully in less than forty days.

It’s been a miserable old day in Chichester today. It just rained and rained and our poorly heated house was struggling to keep warm. We were a couple of children down with both the Small Shouty One (6) and Potato Bottom (12) away at sleepovers.

Slaveboy and I spent yesterday morning in the company of our home edding circle being the only two drinking cocktails at 11 in the morning. Some attributed our act of debauchery to the fact that it was our wedding anniversary but to be honest, neither Slaveboy nor I are that particularly adverse to the idea of spending our loose change on cocktails at any time of the day.

Today was day that the electrician came to sort out the wiring at the bakery. After 40 odd years of having been various incarnations of a retail shop, the bakery has acquired a maze of wirings, some no longer in use. Slaveboy did try to explain to me just what exactly was being done and all I can remember is the mention of ring main and not much more.

My tattoo artist friend, Samo turned up with R, her girlfriend (and a beloved friend of mine) to have their first look at the bakery. I actually relish at the fact that so far, all the work that has been put into the bakery has been done by friends. Samo is currently working on the bakery’s logo. She’s made a conscious effort to steer away from the polished, digitised look and drew inspirations from my other passion – tattoos.

I can show a sneaky peek but you’ll have definitely wait a bit longer for the full picture.

Our builder friend, Percy the Pirate has been busy preparing the bakery for the mammoth undertaking of tiling the preparation area behind where the counters will be. Percy has been a long term friend of ours and pretty much an honorary uncle to both the Small Shouty One and the 7th Wonder.

Other than that, I’ve been busy preparing my shopping list for my stall at next weekend’s Brighton Tattoo Convention. So far the blocks of butter tally is at 37 and I’m at the 18kgs of sugar mark.