As part of my continuing search for the meaning of life, I have looked in many, many places. I have scaled the highest mountains of the world, I have trained body and mind at many a Tibetan monastery, and I have watched The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on as many as two separate occasions in a desperate attempt to figure out the logic behind the suggestion that 42 is the answer to life, the universe and everything (oh, if only Douglas Adams had shown his working like a good pupil). Unfortunately, so far, these attempts have proven rather fruitless.
However, imaging my surprise (and irritation) when, during my lengthy journey back to Winchester this morning, I heard the DJ on BBC Radio Oxford going on about The Great British Bake-Off and the way a man who bakes is now the sexiest form of being in existence for the full three hours, only occasionally breaking off to discuss methods of naming rockstar-themed cakes such as the Rolling Scones and briefly attempting to track down a Good Samaritan who did some woman a good deed over the weekend or at some other point in recent history (I wasn't really listening, as I was more concerned with the racism of suggesting, through the usage of the term 'Good Samaritan', that this is a rarity and that all other Samaritans you may stumble across in your lifetime will invariably be horrid little bastards. Is this really the impression we want to give to our children? But more on that later).
Anyway, to get back to the point: during this long, dull, unfunny and rather drivelly outpouring of gushiness at the prospect of a TV talent show final filled with hunky men who like nothing better than dipping their long, soft fingers into a wet, creamy batter before transforming it as if by magic into a beautiful, wet, moist sponge, my mind began to wander; and no sooner had it begun to wander than it began to wonder whether what this DJ had said was actually true: are men who bake sexier than those who do not?
It seems to easy to discuss this problem through a simple comparison test. Gregg Wallace bakes, Justin Bieber sings about babies in a high-pitched whine while flapping his fringe all over the place. Yet, inexplicably, it is the latter most pre-pubescent girls want to party (wink wink nudge nudge) with. In fact, there has been far more scandal caused by Bieber's forty-odd second-long attempt to put a bun in the oven than Gregg Wallace's pudding face ever has. It seems this so-called new discovery does not have as watertight reasoning as was implied.
Then again, there is another example which appeals more to me: Sophie Dahl bakes, and inexplicably I do have a long-standing desire to catch a glimpse of her perfectly-formed cinnamon rolls (despite my aversion to all things cinnamon-related). Roald Dahl, on the other hand, wrote about a chocolate factory, but we never actually saw him make any chocolate-oriented magic himself. Is it Sophie's culinary prowess which I find so appealling? Well, it must be: I do like a good spotted dick.
I'm not even sure how that innuendo means, so I had probably best get back to the discussion. Remember kids: if you get spotted dick, it is probably best to take a tip to your nearest GUM clinic. Stay safe.
Oh, Sophie...
Back on Earth, I also have to confess myself to be a bit of a baker (although you won't get to see any pictures of my revealing concoctions until week 3). Does this automatically increase my sexual ability/appeal? I'd like to think so.
Excuse me while I fend off the hoarde of horny young ladies currently trying to break down my front door...
What about my female housemate? She blogs about fashion and waffles. Is her site just porn to people? It's a disturbing thought, isn't it? Be afraid, Charlotte: just think what people do when they log onto your site...
Anyway, it looks as though this is not an argument which can be put to bed easily. That is why, ladies, gentlemen and human centipedes, I have decided to create a new, three-part series of articles based about this burning issue, with each part to be published every Tuesday at some point between 8am and 5pm (we're sorry but we can't be more specific: we can only specify between 8 and 5 - well then you'll just have to wait in all day, then, won't you? Lazy people). It'll definitely be worth it if just to see if I can come up with two innuendo-laden titles in the next fortnight which successfully turn cake into sex.
But don't I have other things to do?
Yes, but they can wait.
So, come back next week, when I'll be having a look at the quickly-flourishing trade in cake-based erotica. Can something as simple as a Swiss roll turn us on?
Probably.
And then in part three there'll be something about medical health, using the best possible source I can find (I'm not sure what it'll be yet. I can't be bothered to find a book on it. I'll probably ask someone in my household. Maybe Eliot).
I'll see you shortly.
William D. Green
There was going to be a picture of a penis-shaped cake in this article, but I'm not sure whether I'm allowed to do that. I'll have to check the PC Rulebook. You can find very strange things on Google...
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