Pineapple upside down cake

You will need:
100g self raising flour
100g unsalted butter
100g caster sugar
1 tin pineapple rings in juice
2 or 3 tsp dark brown sugar
2 large free range eggs
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp cochineal
8” cake tin

Method:
1. Cream the butter and sugar
2. Beat the eggs lightly, then stir into the creamed butter and sugar
3. Add the cochineal and stir until mixture turns deep pink
4. Sift the flour into the mixture and stir until combined
5. Open the pineapple rings and set four aside along with about 4 tsps of juice (eat the rest and drink the juice, it’s nice with vodka straight from the freezer!)
6. Put the juice in the cake tin, and sprinkle on the brown sugar, then arrange the rings prettily
7. Cover the pineapple rings with the mixture and smooth over, put in a moderate oven (200 degrees - gas mark 5) for about 30-40 minutes
8. Take the cake from the oven and leave to cool on a wire rack
9. Serve warm with cold cream or *custard, will keep in an airtight container for a day or two

*Please follow the custard rules. They are as follows:
Cold dessert = hot custard
Hot dessert = cold custard
Anything else is just wrong

Cocktails

Here are the recipes for two cocktails I invented.

Ammanford Dusk

Pour half a shot of brandy into a hi-ball glass, top with champagne (or cava if you're skint), then when the bubbles have stopped fizzing - gently pour 5 ml of cassis into the glass.
The cassis should sink to the bottom, so the drink goes from dusky purple to golden yellow. Lovely. A South Wales version of a Tequila Sunrise.

Pink

Pour a shot of brandy into a hi-ball glass, half fill the glass with Babysham, top with raspberryade or cherryade. Enjoy with ice and a novelty straw. Warning: gets you shitfaced before you know it. Pink is a favourite of Jenna from The Loves.

Rose

Votre souffle dans le mien.
Membrane contre la membrane,
Sous la broche.
Les cils frôlent ma joue,
Cicatrice se décolorent au soleil pour toujours.
Les mains passionnantes ont laissé vont,
Glissent, s'affaiblissent et saisissent encore.
Sifflement des peaux émouvantes
Envahissant, rose sur le rose.
Bouts du doigt mous,
Balayant doucement le rose.
Vos lignes de besoin viennent défait,
Et je les dessine encore, et encore.
Chuchotez, et vous chuchotez,
Et vous respirez. Gardez la respiration,
En se déplaçant plus étroitement
Mais en touchant fermement.
Loqueteux, de façon ou d'autre montant,
Peau de sifflement finie de modèles de main.
Et tout est rose.
Engourdi, propre, rose.

Pink Easter Eggs

I’ve been making forever sunburn. Gripping hands let go, slide, weaken and grab again. Hiss of egg. Not molecule by molecule, I’ve got a pair come undone, and I draw them again. Your breath in mine. Membrane against membrane, under spit. Eyelashes graze my cheek, scar, I’ve had a busy afternoon. Somehow soaring, hand invisible to the naked eye. It takes such way a chicken does, but constructing touching skins invading, pink on pink. Soft fingertips, scanning soft pink. Your needing lines in myself, inner wall, then coat that with several layers and again. Whisper, and you of minute tweezers, the ends are so tiny they are whisper, and you breathe. Keep breathing, moving closer but firmly touching. Ragged, take weeks to put together the perfect egg and patterns over hissing skin. And everything is pink. Numb, clean, pink. Long time to create the perfect shell. You first have to build the soft I love my work. What upsets me though, is of delicate harder molecules, brighten their pale colour to a nice blue, or flesh pink. The effort and concentration required is enormous, it can be. I hate my work being misunderstood, especially by those who create. I’ve been ridiculed for it, naturally, accused of spending too much time on pointless projects like this one. I don’t care, I break. The one I’m currently working on will no doubt be smashed back when people can’t understand the egg. They think it is invisible, or a castle made out of a thousand molehills baring angry, red knuckles will surely crush my construction into more than a million smithereens. Smash eggs of their own without even realising. Those eggs are always the prettiest, and the hardest to give up. Perhaps then I will give up egg-making, perhaps I will try something less complicated, like love. Smash into molecules by the first red plastic hammer that walks past it. The first white fist.