The Thamensian’s Take

The Thamensian's Take
The Thamensian's Take

It is Thame Show day and I am nervous as a Tesco boss on 
dividends day. 
Way, way back in the summer I sat with a group of friends and said how pleased I was that Thame Show had returned on a Thursday. 
My friend Graham John agreed with this and said we should all celebrate by baking something. Silly idea. 
Three months later and I approach the Home Produce tent fearing the worst. 
I spent last night baking sausage rolls and an apple cake. I made my pastry for a test run on Sunday then froze half of it. 
I then forgot to get it back out of the freezer until way too late so surely that will limit my chances of victory? 
 I didn’t even practice the apple cake, but by fanning out some apple slices on top I think it looks pretty, even if I have no idea what it’s like inside.I step into the tent and goggle at the giant onions and metre long leeks. I admire Mrs The Thamensian’s Ginger Cake which looks good but hasn’t won anything. I round the corner of the table and here is the Men Only Sausage Roll category. Earlier we all placed our produce on the table with cards face down, so this is an anonymous competition. Someone has placed a red card by mine. Damn, disqualified. I am ready to argue my case but then I pick up the card and it’s not a dismissal. It says ‘First Prize’. I am the Winner!!! 
I high-five a passing punter and try not to look smug as a nearby sad Northerner sulkily looks at his too long, prizeless, sausage rolls. My mighty girth has made him look silly. I am the WINNER. 
I get on the phone and book an open top bus while I edge round to apple cake. Astonishingly I am third in this as well. There is a little note from the judges saying I might even have won if I hadn’t broken the rules by decorating it with apple slices. Silly Mrs The Thamensian, I said I shouldn’t do it. Even better, Grahm John has won First prize and the third of our baking triumvirate, Mr Log, has taken second. We have filled the podium full of idiots who have never cooked a cake between us. 
There is only one thing for it. We go to the beer tent and celebrate being master bakers in style. 
My prize money is £3.50, let the party begin. Nine hours after we laid the food out in a non-refrigerated tent for people to prod, maul and drool over, we eat it and feed those around us in sumptuous style. What a day, what a Show. What culinary skills. Sorry, what culinary skills? 
Roll on next year’s Show. Now where’s that open top bus…
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