Paul J Penton – Songwriter

What a delight, a slice of heaven, lighter than angels wings in the mouth, pockets of air transporting bubbles of taste sensation on see saw rides. I could smell it  from the moment we walked in the door , Mrs Prout had been baking. The back porch area leads into a muted corridor with the kitchen on the left. She stands surrounded by a halo of bright summer light pushing in through the window frame, Surely a choir of angels is about to start singing as she wheels around with that circular delight steaming fresh. The aroma of the slightly browned crust is almost indescribably addictive, but we have to wait for it too cool a bit. Surprise is she’s cooked two and she returns to the oven with the punching glove mits to free the other. The metal pan slides along the tines of the oven shelf making a small percussive metal sound. The sponge joins the other on a rack. Eyes bulge, mouths stream in anticipation – we’re told to wait 10 minutes – we go and occupy ourselves with a track or two from the scratchy Vinyl collection in the lounge and when we return she’s just applying the last Van Gogh swish of  lemon icing.  Like eager dogs skulking at the table leg we make big eyes and whimper. A quick dissection with the super sharp knife and we get our reward. The wait is worth it. The lemon icing has a zesty zing a slight weight that offsets the dreaminess of the melting sponge. Soaring dreams fill our aching stomachs and minds as our eyes beg for a further slice, but there’s another seven mouths to be fed yet before seconds.