I live my life between extremes. The one is total forgetfulness which I call total-recall; which became necessary when I found I didn't belong anywhere.
This displacement I don't consider abnormal, but total-recall became necessary because I had been happy to be a misfit--had written a poem about it--and then a period of six months changed me permanently: henceforth I could not think I'd ever meet someone with whom to share a family-sized fridge.
As a happy misfit I had been toying with the idea of celibacy. I had been defending the old-fashioned way we had been raised. But my closest relatives and their friends were insisting that boys must aim to sow their wild oats.
My folks have taken the blame for allowing me to think that celibacy was possible, so that I can say that for me and other boys it's all the same.
The other extreme is regret: something changed me and I must take responsibility. But I'm coming to realize the regret comes from another person's mixed up ideas.
I was quite proud of myself when I could face her with a stiff upper lip. I got this recipe from her mother, Marigold, as being something within my league.
No half measures, a positive minisicus, and make sure you don't expend more energy on mixing than is exactly necessary.
Bake at 1.9x102°C for 50 minutes.