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 Ten – Beats, Buns, and Background Checks
The Queen Victoria Sponge is buzzing.
Fatbread — a shiny golden brioche with energy to spare — is bouncing from table to table, box of flyers in one hand, jam-speckled headphones in the other.
“Big love to the Bakewell massive!” he shouts. “Fatbread’s back in the Square!”
He spins around, raspberry glaze cap slightly askew, a swirl of icing sugar kicking up behind him.
Phil the Pudding watches, bemused. “Who is this guy again?”
Grant the Spotted Dick mutters, “No idea, but he’s louder than my snoring.”
Peggy Cherry Bakewell leans on the bar, arms folded. “That’s Fatbread. Used to DJ at the Croissant Club in Crumbstead. Got kicked out for remixing the fire alarm. Twice.”
Fatbread grins. “Oi Peggy! Heard about your sponge victory. Thought I’d drop in with some beats, buns, and possibly a portable disco oven.”
Dot Crumble peers over her teacup. “A what now?”
“A disco oven, Dot-dot,” he says, patting it proudly. “Plays beats while it bakes. You’ve never danced until you’ve danced in rising dough.”
Just then, Inspector Rye-vita reappears from the cellar, notebook in hand. Her rye-flour coat is buttoned tight, her spectacles steamed from being too close to the pie warmer.
“I’ve reviewed your cooling protocols,” she says flatly. “And your tea turnover rotation.”
Peggy sighs. “Anything actually wrong, or just making notes for the sequel?”
Rye-vita glances toward Fatbread. “And you are?”
Fatbread slides a flyer across the counter. “Fatbread. Brioche bun, DJ, and pastry-positive vibes. Might’ve spun for the Crustal Method once. Unofficially.”
Peggy squints. “You still running that underground bake club?”
“Not anymore,” he shrugs. “Now it’s mobile. Bakebeats. Private parties. Flapjack festivals. I do kids’ birthdays and jam raves.”
Rye-vita doesn’t blink. “And you’re here… why?”
Fatbread lowers his voice. “Heard whispers, innit. About you. About this whole inspection. You’re not council, are you?”
Peggy leans in. “What do you mean?”
“Word on the proving rack,” Fatbread says, tapping his temple, “is that she’s a fixer. Private. Sent in when bakeries go… rogue.”
Dot gasps. “A rogue inspector? What, like freelance sponge control?”
“Something like that,” Fatbread mutters. “Only turns up when someone’s looking to close a place down quietly.”
Peggy frowns. “Well, she picked the wrong pub.”
Meanwhile, across the square, Chantelle Chia Bun stands in the doorway of Ye Olde Crumb and Butter, watching, seeds twitching.
“She’s in deep now,” she says.
Rye-an Crust groans from the back room. “Let her get them shut down. I’ll open up in their place. Call it Queen Vic Crust.”
Chantelle smirks. “One more push…”
Back at the pub, Fatbread sets up his mini-decks.
“Alright Walnutford!” he shouts. “Tonight we rise — with rhythm! Let’s prove we still got soul!”
Peggy rolls her eyes — but only slightly.
“Alright then,” she says. “But keep the volume below a Bakewell blast. And no disco in the cellar.”
Duff duff duff… the beat drops into a bassline of distant suspicion.
Blind Man Makes 