Cut the cake into bits and spread with jam. Arrange attractively in bottom of bowl. Chuck fruit in and sprinkle liberally with sherry. Lovely, gorgeous, sweet smelling sherry. Open carton of Ambrosia custard and pour over fruit and cake. Get big spoon to scrape all the custard from inside carton. Get custard up arms and on jumper. Lick up custard, saucily.
It's now time to whip the cream. If some twat has used the mixing bowl to partially assemble a trifle you will need to find a suitable replacement. This is a good time to sip some sherry, to quell any rising frustation. Whizz the cream with the electric whisk being very careful not to beat it too much so that it becomes a thick, heavy lump which is a bugger to spread over the custard without sinking.
Finally decorate with leftover fruit and some toasted almonds. Almonds do not come ready toasted, so you need to find a way to do this without damaging the toaster or setting your nuts on fire. Put any burnt almonds on the bird table and use the rest on your trifle.
Put finished effort in fridge and have a small sherry to reward your endeavours. Then assemble ingredients for lemon drizzle cake. You will need lemons, eggs, sugar, butter, flour, baking powder (the Co-Op didn't have any of that either, so I used optimism) and sherry. Lovely, gorgeous, sweet smelling sherry.
Preheat oven to 160. This is easier if the numbers haven't all worn off your cooker knob. Grease and line a baking tin. This is harder than it sounds.
Grate the zest from two lemons into the sugar. Mind your fingernails.
Beat the sugar into the softened butter. Mine seemed a bit lumpy but I wasn't sure if that was down to the lemon zest. If in doubt, sip some sherry and carry on.
Then sift and fold in the flour and baking powder, if you are fancy enough to have any. The handle's come off my sieve and I couldn't be doing with the folding, so I just whacked mine in the bowl and whizzed it all around for a bit. Looked about right to me.
Pour batter into cake tin, bung in the oven and wait for an hour and a half. This is very dull. Sip sherry and shout "you'd better rise, you bastard" at the oven from time to time. Lick cake mix from bowl and off beaters. Sip more sherry to kill any potential salmonella bugs from the raw eggs.
After 90 minutes your cake should be risen and golden. Mine was golden. Fuck it. Dissolve juice from previous lemons with caster sugar in a pan. I have no idea if you should let it boil or not. Mine did. Then make lots of little holes in your cake with a skewer and pour the molten syrup all over it. This is quite dangerous if you're pissed. You can also add bits of curly lemon zest for decorative purposes but I couldn't be arsed. I stuck a really shite plastic Happy Birthday thing I found in a drawer on mine instead. Ta dah!
Serve with plenty of bubbly and lashings of enthusiasm.
"You look good enough to eat," he murmured against my neck.
I made a dismissive noise. "No," he insisted, "really. You have custard on your sleeves and cream in your hair. At least, I hope it's cream."
"I don't suppose you brought any more sherry did you?"
He shook his head, sexily. I pouted, poutily. This cookery malarky is all very erotic. I seductively sucked some jam off my fingers and picked a couple of burnt almonds out of my bra.
"Shame," I breathed, huskily. "I still have to get through the washing up and my buzz is fading."
"Put those oven gloves on and bend over," he commanded, dominantly.
I complied. The cake was ready.
To see this kind of thing done properly go visit the lovely Carnalis. She can actually cook and has a lovely bottom.