Over the last few chilly weeks, when our outings have involved biting winds and chapped hands, our women’s squad has been motivated by one thing (other than the naked desire to win): the prospect of reviving ourselves with coffee and cake when we debrief in the clubhouse afterwards. Taking it in turns to do the baking, our post-rowing confections have included gloriously sticky lemon drizzle, chocolate muffins studded with chocolate drops, immaculately professional Victoria sponge and richly indulgent chocolate brownies.
Last week it was the turn of the founder of the House of Campion, whose designer bags can often be seen on the arms of the Monmouth glitterati. We’d been promised flapjacks and were startled to find, on the ceremonial Opening of the Cake Tin, a neat collection of brownies, definitely spiked with something delicious and moistened by juicy prunes.
“Ah”, explained the Mary Berry of the Three Seat, “The flapjacks were too crumbly… so I fed them to the chickens.”
“Lucky chickens”, said we.
Lucky, indeed. For behold what the flapjacks did for their laying potential. On the right, a pre-flapjack egg. But on the left… an egg laid by the self-same chicken after consuming a batch of the crumbly flapjacks.
This, needless to say, has got us thinking. Just imagine if we started including these flapjacks as a regular part of our training diet. Our muscles would bulge. We would grow by at least a foot. We would, inevitably, destroy the opposition.
So watch out for us, people. If you’re at a regatta this summer and find that the sun has gone in, it’s probably just the Monmouth Giants blocking out the light.
You have been warned…
