There’s so much that you don’t see. Many an offence can be papered over by joyful innuendo and neat piping work. Sure the playfully gambolling lambs look adorable but no one’s addressed their recent carnivorous tendencies. Forlorn bakers on their way out are struggling to make it out with all their limbs intact.
And then there are the lewd and inappropriate overtures of a certain judge we won’t name for fear of litigation. We’re not even getting to the piles of toxic waste strewn around the grounds of that quiet country manor. Or the fact that it was originally built on an ancient Indian burial ground. It only takes a few minor hauntings for it really not to be funny anymore.
So while it’s very important that someone is crowned winner of pies and awarded with a beautifully tasteful cake stand some variety of action needs to be taken. The favourite baker must be rescued. But who might this be? The one with the most communicative eyebrows ever? He who sculpts lions from bread? The eternal star of the tent? No, it obviously has to be the young Scottish one because I like her the best.
To set the stage, imagine the Mission Impossible music in the background (the gentle lilting of the usual soundtrack done away with). Infrared goggle on (because the night vision ones would be completely useless as they insist on shooting during the day) and get ready to interrupt some filming.
It doesn’t matter if pastries are cooling, crème pat is being made or even if some form of disaster is going down involving emergency cooling. Deploy the flash grenades, have the stun gun at the ready, duck around the protective arms of Mel and Sue, grab the girl and get the hell out of there. She may well be grateful enough to bake you some bread after your daring rescue.