My mother does a lot of baking and has done ever since I was little.  One of the benefits of being an only child I suppose.  Aside from a few rather nice cakes and the occasional cheese straw she makes one pie and one pie only.  An apple pie.  Actually, to give it it’s correct name, it is a “bloody amazing apple pie.”  She’s done this for the past 33 years of my life and over time it’s gradually got a little bigger and a lot more tasty.  When I drove back to Nottinghamshire to see them (‘them’ being mum and dad, not mum and pie) a few weeks ago I noticed something rather different on arrival after making a bee-line for the fridge.  The timeless apple pie had a letter ‘A’ on the top of the delicious crust.  ”Mum,” I asked quizzically.  ”You only make one pie, it’s apple.  I know this, you know this, dad knows this.  Everyone knows this and it’s a bloody amazing pie too” – hence the colloquial name we’ve given it since dad bit into a new recipe around 1984.  ”Yes but what if someone expected it to be a blueberry or rasberry pie?” she countered.  ”Then they don’t deserve to be eating your lovely creation, mum.”  To this I could only offer a rather honest summary; “They should go somewhere else and never darken your kitchen again.”