I attempt to choose my wedding cake topper

Yes. The wedding day approaches (in 6 weeks). The Marguerite PotLuck project has had to be "put on ice" (as they say in management circles when they are not suggesting that people "reach out" to one another) in favour of a far more exciting endeavour: the 'bake your own wedding cake' project.

I will not be making a 3-tiered fruitcake thing with fondant icing for a few simple reasons:

1. I do not like fondant icing;
2. I am not sure that anyone else likes fondant icing;
3. I do not like eating things that have to be fiddled with and 'manipulated';
4. I do not like eating things that also double up as a decoration. (Chocolate Christmas tree decorations aside.)

Instead, I shall be making many different bundt cakes (so pretty, and found less often in the UK than in the North America, I think). They do not need to be fussed with much and are pretty as they are, perhaps with a little icing sugar dusted across their soft receiving mounds, or, at most, a perky little glaze.

We are doing a scientific experiment, overseen by the pathologist, in which I bake a cake; part of it is wrapped and stored in the fridge for a week, part of it frozen, and the other part eaten by anyone who crosses our path. If they pass all the tests (freezes/keeps well, tastes like mouthporn), then they are IN.

So far, we have a lemon and lavender cake, a chocolate cake and a magnificent orange, carrot and ginger cake (the recipe is originally from Cooks Illustrated but this is the same recipe), and need two more - any ideas gratefully suggested, as long as they contain neither shortening nor margarine.

And yet - this is a wedding. Surely something must come rising out of the most attractive of the bundt cakes, indicating to all those gathered present that they in fact at a wedding, at not at a Women's Institute coffee morning. But what's it to be? The choices are endless.


Bridal Arch

A classic.
















Dance of Love

For only $149, the pathologist and I can (metaphorically) dance into the sunset forever and ever.
















Magic Hands

How do our tiny white hands function if they are cut off from the rest of our body? Are they powered by our love alone?



















Dirty Seahorses

Why are seahorses so odd? They are the favourite living creature of the pathologist (along with bats), and yet I find them strange, like something made up in an underwater sci-fi comic book.












The Lionel Ritchie

Hello. Is it me you're looking for?














Strange Children

























Pigs on a Harley

I make no comment about Harley drivers being pigs. No, I lie: I will. Harley drivers - particularly the ones that roar up and down our (otherwise quiet) country road at the weekends, starting at 8am, are inconsiderate wankers, and a damn sight less sympathetic, useful and attractive than real pigs. (Interesting fact: the average age of a Harley owner is 62).






Moptop dream of love

Sindy, crossed with Ringo Starr (early years), crossed with a Playperson.



(By the way, if you haven't seen Cake Wrecks, go there now and kiss goodbye to at least a quarter of an hour.)