Now I know I vowed and declared not to write of scones again, but this story is about closure.
If you have stopped by previously, you might know that I decided to enter my scones in this year's cookery competition at the Royal Melbourne Agricultural Show. I've never done anything like this before. It was all meant to be for fun. But as the time went on, the amount of practice and refinement (and ridiculously large scone store in the freezer) suggested things were getting a little more serious.
Anyway this Sunday past was the Big Day. I rose at dawn to bake a large quantity of scones, before selecting and ferrying my best 4 to the Showgrounds. The craft pavilion was awash with ladies bearing Tupperware containers and people with pens and clipboards. It was all quite exciting. I checked in my best 4 on a paper plate and left my entry to be judged.
This morning the results were announced. Part of me was a tiny bit hopeful. Hopeful in the same sort of way that I might hope to win the lottery. Or that both my boys might sleep in until 7:30. You know - possible, but oh so unlikely.
Yup, no prize for me. Never mind. That's just the way scone crumbles ... right?
Then I noticed, the small matter of a four and a zero. You see, it appears that when I placed my entry, that I transposed these two numbers. Instead of entering myself into the Novice class 204, it seems I inadvertently competed in Class 240. And Class 240, dear reader, is for the scone heavyweights - previous prize winners.
When I looked at the list of prizes and commendations, it was dominated by people with just two surnames. Could it be that there are two families who monopolise Class 240 annually? Are there close relatives who compete fiercely against one another each year? Family bake-offs?
Oh hot buttered scones (or some less printable swearing), I thought. I never stood a chance in that class. I wonder what would have happened if my scones were in the novice division?
Who knows? Not me. I'll just have to have another crack at it again next year.
