I can't believe people still insist on offering me a vulgar, upstart import that is way past its sell-by date. It's as if I should be somehow grateful and wowed. Now we all know that what America pigs out on today, Britain troughs tomorrow: Krispy Kreme donuts (bleech!), Oreos (I mean why would you, FFS, and do you actually know anyone who'd go there?) but, even people of hitherto irreproachable bon gout, it seems, can't resist the dubious charms of the ubiquitous cupcake. Vile! No catered event or humble tea room is complete without these icky fatty buns; which is how your tramp stamp ass will end up if you keep gobbling ‘em like a gavage-crazy goose with a death wish on a Dordogne foie gras farm, muffin top! A ubiquitous TV presence (Come Dine With Me, Four Weddings, countless sleb chefs and Lord Icing-Sugar’s Junior Apprentices have all pimped them). Had Mary Queen Of Shops insisted the old bat who ran that half-baked Raynes Park bakery that turned into a right nightMary for the retail guru in Ms Portas's last series sell nothing but cupcakes, the place would be raking in hundreds and thousands. But that's suburban taste for ya. A dozen jumped-up fairy cakes gussied up in pearls and feathers with my name in puce piping as a birthday present? Because I’m called Princess and I’m four today? Gimme the Marks and Sparks socks every time! When Metro's resident foodie, Marina O’Loughlin, states ‘I want my tastebuds back for something entirely more sensible... like cheese’, trust me, a trend is over.
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