Image Description: An overhead view of a fictional baked-goods town called Walnutford, designed in the style of a map. A glossy custard river runs horizontally from left to right across the centre of the image, gently curving as it flows. On either side of the river is a bustling town made entirely of baked treats. You can see pies with lattice and star tops, croissants, bread rolls, loaves, tarts, and pastry parcels, all arranged like buildings on a map. Whipped cream puffs and green fondant leaves appear like trees and parks. The ground looks like it’s dusted with fine flour or biscuit crumbs. At the top centre, large white text reads “YeastEnders”, with “Walnutford” in smaller letters below. The entire scene is warm, golden, and surreal – a deliciously baked parody of the EastEnders opening titles.
Episode Five – Get Out of My Pub
It’s the day of the Walnutford Food Fair, and Almond Square is buzzing. Trestle tables line the cobbled street, bunting flaps in the breeze, and the scent of jam, spice, and pastry fills the air.
Inside The Queen Victoria Sponge, the bar is bustling. The pub is half tearoom, half watering hole — a warm space with oak-panelled walls glazed in toffee varnish and lamps shaped like upside-down teacups. Behind the bar, a gleaming glass cabinet displays scones, flapjacks, and crumpet sandwiches.
On tap?
* Ale of Raisin – a dark fruity brew with extra chew
* Barm Brandy – served warm with a cherry on top
* Custard Cream Cider – sweet, smooth, with a creamy head
* Jam Jar G&T – with juniper syrup and a sugar-crust rim
* And for the regulars, a steamy pot of Builder’s Brew Loaf Tea, steeped in brown sugar and pride
Peggy Cherry Bakewell wipes down the counter, eyes narrowed.
“Today’s the day,” she says, her blonde icing swirl pulled tight with tension. “One shot. One slice.”
Phil the Pudding wheels in the finished treacle sponge, golden and proud, with a sheen of syrup and the family recipe scroll beside it under a cake dome.
Out in the square, the judging tent is filling up. Baroness Baklava sits on a throne-like meringue chair, clipboard ready. Chantelle Chia Bun and Rye-an Crust are already there, standing beside their version — a tall sponge tower with piped declarations of originality and a suspicious glisten.
Back at the pub, Dot Crumble sips her usual tea and mutters, “If they so much as sniff at our syrup…”
The tension breaks when Dennis Danish stumbles into the pub, crumbs on his collar and guilt in his glaze.
Sharon Scone freezes. “Where’ve you been?”
“I—I just went to drop something off…” he stammers.
Phil steps forward. “You were at their stall, weren’t you?”
Dennis glances at Sharon. “She said she wanted their version withdrawn. I just… passed on a note.”
Peggy’s eyes flare. She slams her fork on the counter, the cherry on her forehead almost vibrating.
“You handed them a note? In my name?”
“It wasn’t signed!” Dennis protests. “I thought it’d help—”
“You don’t speak for me,” Peggy growls. “You don’t bake for me. And you definitely don’t stir my sponge with their spoon.”
She points her fork squarely at his pastry chest.
“Get out of my pub.”
The room falls silent. Even the cake stand stops spinning.
Dennis backs away, flaky layers trembling, and vanishes out the door.
Dot Crumble sips slowly. “Bit overdue, that one.”
Outside, the judging begins. Peggy, Phil, and Stacey carry their sponge to the tent, heads high.
As Baroness Baklava lifts her fork and takes a bite, the flavour hits — syrup, almond, history. Her eyebrows rise.
She turns to the rival dish. Lifts another forkful.
She pauses.
“There’s… raisins,” she says flatly. “Who… put raisins in a treacle sponge?”
Peggy leans in. “Not anyone with a real recipe.”
Duff duff duff… a fork clinks on porcelain.
Blind Man Makes 