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.
YeastEnders – Episode Fourteen: Raisins and Rumours
Trolley Park was unusually quiet.
Raisin Roxy sat alone on a flour-dusted bench, clutching a takeaway crumble coffee and staring at the jam graffiti across the alley wall. The swirling B mark shimmered slightly in the morning sun, the chocolate streak beneath it drying to a crusty smear.
“I know that sign,” she muttered.
Behind her, Ryan Rye pretended to check his phone while trying (and failing) to subtly eavesdrop. He nudged Fatbread, who was leaning against the lamppost beside him.
“Mate… you reckon she’s in trouble?”
Fatbread shrugged. “Roxy? Trouble follows her like icing on a bun.”
Meanwhile, inside the Queen Victoria Sponge, Peggy Cherry Bakewell was mid-clean, wielding a feather duster like a weapon.
“Phil! That dust’s back on the jukebox again. It’s like someone’s been dancing in here after closing.”
Phil the Pudding looked up from his crossword. “Or maybe the inspector left more than her weird little camera flash behind.”
Dotty Doughnut popped up from the cellar, notebook in hand. “I just found this near the beer barrels…” She held up a jam-stained business card with gold foil lettering:
“Raisin Roxy – Former Mixer, The Buttered Bunch.”
Peggy’s jaw dropped. “The Buttered Bunch? That gang of bake-off bandits from Crumbford?”
Dotty nodded. “Rumour was they folded years ago — after the Great Icing Incident.”
Phil slammed his puddingy fist down. “If she’s brought them here—”
A loud horn interrupted him. Out on the square, a delivery wagon rolled in — sleek, stylish, and unmistakably expensive.
And stepping out?
A familiar flaky face with layered secrets: Mille Feuille Maurice.
Roxy stood up. “I knew he’d come.”
Maurice swept off his beret. “Bonjour, mes tartlets. I heard this square was rising again.”
Blind Man Makes 