Exercising Cake Control

by Samantha Entwistle

It’s a simple exercise in weights and measures, gather the ingredients, open the bags and follow the steps. You can’t go wrong; just call me "Nigella" and fetch me a glass of wine. Cream, whisk, fold; comfort words and faithful acts. Pull back together the remnants of your life, when all else has failed the cupcakes won’t let you down. A perfect result, once more queen of all you survey. Unless you forget the sugar or the baking powder, then they fall flat and do not taste sweet; a fair reflection of the day.

6S

Samantha Entwistle, author of Buttons, is waiting for the cakes to come out the oven.

Pop to the Shops

by Samantha Entwistle

Irene stood in the checkout by aisle three and looked around in disbelief, unable to quite grasp how it had happened. In retrospect, it had started brewing when she left the house, some days, most days these days, it was wiser to stay at home; a supermarket trip was far too ambitious but the cat needed feeding and Derek was whining about there never being any food in the house when he came home. Then there was the incident in the car park, the woman had been so rude, so unnecessary, so what if it took Irene fifteen attempts to get into the parking space, the concentration required to avoid damaging the other cars around her was draining enough without other women shouting obscenities at her. She idly moved the trolley off the woman’s crumpled body as the manager’s voice came over the tannoy; she really shouldn’t have tried to push in. "Carnage in aisle three, cleanup crew report immediately. Customers are advised to take additional care when passing."

6S

Samantha Entwistle, author of Fairytale Endings, recommends shopping online.

Fashion Victim

by Samantha Entwistle

I fell down the stairs today, the third time in ten years in this house, not a bad average but not one I’m looking to improve on with age. Fortunately, the banister broke my fall down all fourteen steps and averted a nasty pre-Christmas tragedy. Just so you know, it wasn’t the stairs or me at fault, it was vanity. I have new friends who assure me that trousers are the thing to wear and, not wishing to shame my children by appearing to be boho without the chic, I’ve succumbed; a foot caught in the new trouser leg proved to be my downfall. My old friends are mildly alarmed, they’ve known me for twenty years or more and have endured my out of kilter fashion sense and clumsiness long enough to know it’s probably safer to stick with a style that works. My view is that being able to see my feet so I can keep them firmly on the ground is probably the best option.

6S

Samantha Entwistle is a firm believer in the power of witch hazel.

Polaroids

by Samantha Entwistle

You said you wanted pictures, mementos, something to remember me by. This is me, lying in my bed wondering whether it will ever be warm again. This is me, standing on the bridge of the river in our town thinking will the currents be strong enough to take the hurt away. This is me, sitting in the cafe where we ate lazy lover's breakfast on Sundays, unable to taste my coffee or swallow my toast, as I watch the couple, that used to be us, kiss and coo. This is me, walking away, sloughing off the skin you touched, throwing the heart you broke in the trash. This is me, say "cheese."

6S

Samantha Entwistle, whose full catalog is here, thinks 6S's are like Polaroids - she likes to see what develops.

Fairytale Endings

by Samantha Entwistle

She looked at the two women sitting opposite and looked away. Cinderella, primped and powdered within an inch of her life, Snow White’s once raven hair maintained by a bottle; bickering and snarling at each other under a thinly maintained veneer. She smoothed her own short gray hair and sighed, what would the mirror say now, they’d never know, it had been smashed when the first crow’s feet appeared. The competitiveness never stopped even though they now met infrequently now that the princes reigned no more and they were condemned to dowager status. She had hoped that the shared history would have been enough to encourage a little generosity, apparently not. She stood-up, they didn’t notice, too enraged by the achievements of their respective grandchildren, and walked to the cupboard under the stairs; she opened the door and gazed longingly at the spinning wheel.

6S

Samantha Entwistle, author of Fashion Victim, does not live in a gingerbread house.

Fashion Victim

by Samantha Entwistle

I fell down the stairs today, the third time in ten years in this house, not a bad average but not one I’m looking to improve on with age. Fortunately, the banister broke my fall down all fourteen steps and averted a nasty pre-Christmas tragedy. Just so you know, it wasn’t the stairs or me at fault, it was vanity. I have new friends who assure me that trousers are the thing to wear and, not wishing to shame my children by appearing to be boho without the chic, I’ve succumbed; a foot caught in the new trouser leg proved to be my downfall. My old friends are mildly alarmed, they’ve known me for twenty years or more and have endured my out of kilter fashion sense and clumsiness long enough to know it’s probably safer to stick with a style that works. My view is that being able to see my feet so I can keep them firmly on the ground is probably the best option.

6S

Samantha Entwistle, author of Exercising Cake Control, is a firm believer in the power of witch hazel.

Exercising Cake Control

by Samantha Entwistle

It’s a simple exercise in weights and measures, gather the ingredients, open the bags and follow the steps. You can’t go wrong; just call me "Nigella" and fetch me a glass of wine. Cream, whisk, fold; comfort words and faithful acts. Pull back together the remnants of your life, when all else has failed the cupcakes won’t let you down. A perfect result, once more queen of all you survey. Unless you forget the sugar or the baking powder, then they fall flat and do not taste sweet; a fair reflection of the day.

6S

Samantha Entwistle is waiting for the cakes to come out the oven.

Buttons

by Samantha Entwistle

The playground is always the great leveler. Thinking I looked well put together in the yard and ready for the world, I stood there while Claire ripped something off the front of my shirt. We all looked at it; I snatched it back and reapplied it to the gape between my buttons. "It’s tit tape, I got it off eBay," I explained. "Oh, I did wonder what it was..." commented Valé. "Well, you should have ordered extra buxom," Claire pointed out.

6S

Samantha Entwistle is up north.