I'm a bit late for National Cupcake Week, which was 12-18 September, but I think I have a fairly valid excuse. You see, dear readers, when you may have been in the kitchen whipping up delightful sugary treats, I was twenty metres below sea level.
I spent that week in Gibraltar, learning how to scuba dive. It was without doubt the most terrifying experience of my life. In second place would be learning to ski for the first time, but at least when skiing there's no risk of running out of air. Or sharks. Or jellyfish. Or the bends. I suppose you could argue that diving is safer than skiing, with no risk of sudden death by broken neck or back, but it didn't feel that way when I was twenty metres below the ocean surface, freezing my face off in a wetsuit that didn't fit properly, twelve kilos of lead strapped around my waist and almost certainly causing irreparable damage to my ovaries, being asked by my instructor to remove the oxygen-giving device from my mouth or take off my mask underwater and put it back on again. They like to call this "safety drills". I like to call it "torture".