my cousin gives a dinner party and says that i could come along to it if i would be responsible for dessert, and there were these four small apricots in the fruit basket, not sweet enough for eating and therefore languishing much disdained, and better that they should perish honourably, so i chopped them up and stirred them into my cake batter. it was a one of those french yoghurt cakes, impossible to ruin, and so that the apricots would not be lonely i used apricot yoghurt instead of the usual plain, and lots of almond meal, and the result was sweet and light and fluffy and moist and crackly, with pockets of sweet, melting apricot chunks. and i wish i wish darryl was here, because it would have made him happy, and i don't see him till next week, and by then my kitchen will no longer smell of roast fruit.