Kate told me the last time I organised coffee, how much she likes madeleines, but that she only ever buys them, as she could never really cook and even less so now that she has moved into a house in which the only cooking appliance is an Aga (notoriously difficult to get used to). Bought madeleines, even from the fabulous boulangerie in the village, aren’t a patch on home-made – I suspect that it is uneconomic to use the proper quantities of almonds. So, having loads of them stashed in the freezer, I decided to take a tin of them (thawed of course) and a container of Nigella’s Christmas Pudding Truffles, to the coffee morning. Kate’s email, as well as giving the good news that Ettie’s arm would not have to go back into plaster, reported that she (Kate) had managed to spend most of the afternoon eating madeleines and “had only a few left to share with the kids”. It is fortunate that Kate is reed-thin. As much as I enjoy feeding people, I do live slightly in fear that one day I will hear sirens and, having decided that I am personally responsible for a local spike in the figures, the obesity police will come and ‘cut me down before I cook again’.