Scones

If one more person asks me if I'm good at baking scones I will punch them.

Don't let it be you.

While I have improved in the kitchen in recent years, it's fair to say my level of expertise when it comes to cooking is minimal. Baking less so. Poor Woody. He'd love a girl that's handy with a beater and some flour.

But what it is it about farming and scones? Do I really need to know how to bake a good scone to succeed in our new life?

I have been on many, many farms over the years and not once have I been offered a scone.

In fact the only person I know who makes a mean scone is my mother and she ain't a farmers backside. To be blunt.

Though she did grow her own pumpkins for the scones. They were rippers, fertilised by Sarah's dead mice if I remember correctly. They froze one summers night under the fan. The mice, not the pumpkins. I digress.

Being adopted the scone gene was never passed on. Oh the travesty.

But you know what? I've never been one to shy away from a challenge and now that I've read the CWA cookbook and have seen that the degree of difficulty in baking scones is "low", I might just have a crack.

Wouldn't it be nice to say "yes, in fact you smart arse, I'm the best bloody scone baker in the whole of the valley."

Maybe, just maybe.