Birds put the turd in custard!

Last week, I was stopping overnight at a friend's house and - because she did - I watched the Great British Bake Off. Those of you who know me will be staggered to hear that, this week, I voluntarily watched it in my own house.

(For those of you who don't: I basically never watch telly. I struggled a little to find the GBBO on the V+ box's catch-up TV menus because, er, I don't think I've ever interacted with them before. And we've had the V+ box for four years.)

Having mentally filed GBBO under "reality TV", without having ever seen it, I was surprised to find that the contestants all appeared to be normal, likable people. And the judges - though sometimes harsh - seemed out to offer honest criticism rather than ritual humiliation. I could still live without all the dramatic pauses and close-up face shots, but overall I enjoyed it.

And, like (I imagine) a substantial portion of the country, I set on this weekend ( to see if I could do a better job of custard tarts )