I love being a parent in the time of Bluey. But Duck Cake nearly broke me
I'd made it past the Michelangelo-level cake carving of the duck's body, and managed to make a sturdy head and neck which wasn't going to do a Bandit and fall off. (The head did look a bit like ET instead of a duck, but that was okay because the 1980s alien happens to be my four-year-old's favourite character, go figure).
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Courier-Mail
16 hours ago
- Courier-Mail
Picture exposes Kate's huge Trump nightmare
Don't miss out on the headlines from Royals. Followed categories will be added to My News. COMMENT What. About. The. Lawn. In 2019 Donald and Melania Trump packed up their his and her medical-grade bronzer tubs and headed to London for a State visit, landing on the Buckingham Palace lawn in Marine One, the presidential helicopter. One was not amused. Days later Scott 'I don't hold the hose' Morrison visited the Palace and the late Queen, per the Times, 'marched him to a window to look out at the once green and pleasant grass and said: 'Come and look at my lawn. It's ruined.'' Let's hope the royal family's under gardeners are ready given that Mr Trump is set to return to London for an historic second State. (It is reportedly 'pencilled in' for September.) And let's hope that Kate, The Princess of Wales is already working on her game face for what will be the most charged, if not hardest, assignment of her royal career. Kate and Trump. Smiling side-by-side. Just imagine it. You can't quite, right? But this moment will happen, along with 98 other smiley, pose-y, 'say fromage for the cameras' instances during the visit, during which Mr Trump will try and impress the princess with big talk of his putting game and she will attempt to explain why her father-in-law is not interested in invading Iceland. What a meeting of minds. And what diplomatic heroics will the expected of Kate as she faces assuming a major role for the trip. Kate during a State Banquet at Buckingham Palace on June 3, 2019, on the first day of Trump's State Visit to the UK. Picture: Victoria Jones/pool/AFP Queen Elizabeth with Trump during his 2019 State Visit to the UK. Picture: Victoria Jones/Pool/AFP In 2019, the last time that the Trumps and their individual hair care crates were in the UK, Kate was the Duchess of Cambridge, a significant place removed from the throne. Back then, she and Prince William were able to fly under the radar and take relatively back seat roles. Her responsibilities extended entirely to sourcing an Alexander McQueen gown and remembering to wash her hair or the State dinner. Not this time. If the 2025 trip is anything like the one six years ago, as the Prince and Princess of Wales, William and Kate will be expected to host the Trumps for tea and to step up to help King Charles and Queen Camilla shoulder the hoisting load during the scheduled-to-the-millisecond, multi-day Cirque du Soleil-level formal production. Queen Camilla winking. Picture: X Kate might have a few State visits as a princess under her belt (South Africa, South Korea, Japan and Qatar) but nothing like this year's American one given the involvement of the world's most famous McNugget consumer. William and Kate at a ceremonial welcome for The President and the First Lady of the Republic of Korea in London. Picture: Chris Jackson –Even months out, the Trump visit is already shaping up to be the most charged State event of Kate's 14 years on the royal clock, surpassing that time in 2015 when China's President Xi Jingping turned up for his go in a gold carriage down The Mall and faced protesters. (Courtiers no doubt all let out a collective sigh of relief that Prince Philip was several hours away in Norfolk glueing together an Airfix model of a Spitfire and couldn't be bothered to try out any new material.) For this visit, the demands put on William and Kate for a note perfect performance will be that much greater. Princess Kate is seen walking well behind Donald Trump in footage from 2019. Picture: YouTube The prince has already gotten a taste of this, having what was by all accounts a very warm and chummy meeting with Trump in Paris in December last year. (William does know something about being an apprentice after all.) Trump meets Prince William on December 7, 2024 in Paris, France. Picture: Aaron Chown – Pool/Getty Images The success of that face-to-face speaks to the demands put on working members to put aside all personal thought and feeling and to quiescently do what Whitehall asks of them. After all, William's marquee project is The Earthshot Prize, giving away nearly $100 million to creative and exciting climate crisis solutions; the Trump administration is opening up Millions of acres of Alaskan wilderness to drilling and mining. For Kate and William, this US State visit will be a major taste of what lies ahead for them – having to do the glad-handing bidding of Downing Street. (State visits are organised at the request of the government of the day, not based on who the sovereign fancies having over for a Scotch Finger.) Kings and Queens are required to remain blandly, politically neutral at all times, to be perpetually smiling milquetoast automatons in good quality wool separates. Their personal tastes, preferences and ideological inclinations can and will never enter the equation. Come September, the realpolitik demanded of royalty will be on full display. Even then, no matter how much hot air there will be coming out of governmental and royal functionaires about special relationships, the rest of the UK's 68 million people might not feel the same way. William and Kate will be working their smiling muscles and playing very very nice with the Cousins but on the streets of the capital public feeling could be running high. Mr Trump's trips to the UK in 2018 and 2019 were met with large-scale public resistance. There were mass protests, nearly 1.9 million people signed a petition opposing his visit; newly knighted London mayor Sir Sadiq Khan forcefully denounced the president; and then speaker of the House of Commons John Bercow barred him from addressing parliament. Anti-Trump demonstrators hold placards as they protest outside of Buckingham Palace in central London on June 3, 2019. Picture: Tolga Akmen/AFP Queen Elizabeth II laughed with Donald Trump during a State Banquet in 2019. Picture: Dominic Lipinski/Pool/AFP Things already sound a tad tense. Meeting Mr Trump's 'sky high' expectations of the visit is reportedly proving quite the royal headache. Tim Shipman, the Sunday Times' chief political commentator, reported this week that the Palace and Downing Street 'have struggled to agree the details [of the trip] with the White House'. Unlike say Mr Xi who got to enjoy the pomp of being jostled and jigged in a wooden coach around central London beside the late Queen, 'officials say Trump is a far bigger assassination threat and there is no coach sufficiently armoured to allow him to use it.' There is also the question of where to stash Mr and Mrs Trump. Buckingham Palace is in the midst of a ten-year renovation and King Charles has, and may very well never, live there. Adding another possibly testy element – Charles is the King of Canada, a country that Mr Trump has threatened to annex. A visit earlier this month to Ottawa saw the King very obviously demonstrate his support for the country, and his speech to their parliament was 'a coded rebuke to Trump's expansionist urges,' per the Times. Unlikely to impress the president either is that French President Emmanuel Macron is set to get his own royal State visit months before the American one. 'It is an open secret,' Shipman wrote, 'that the King is happy' about this trumping. Egos, a lack of carriages, dogs, aides, renovations, helicopters, dinners, finger sandwiches, nerves, sensitivities: There is a lot involved in the Trumps' arrival, any – all – of it could go pear-shaped and Kate will be at the heart of things. Lucky girl. There is one perfect moment though that, let us pray, gets recreated somehow. In 2019, Queen Camilla went viral after being caught on camera winking behind Mr Trump's back. Oooh errrr Your Majesty. Give us another one, please. Daniela Elser is a writer, editor and commentator with more than 15 years' experience working with a number of Australia's leading media titles. Originally published as Picture exposes Kate's Trump nightmare
Canberra Times
2 days ago
- Canberra Times
I love being a parent in the time of Bluey. But Duck Cake nearly broke me
I'd made it past the Michelangelo-level cake carving of the duck's body, and managed to make a sturdy head and neck which wasn't going to do a Bandit and fall off. (The head did look a bit like ET instead of a duck, but that was okay because the 1980s alien happens to be my four-year-old's favourite character, go figure).
The Advertiser
2 days ago
- The Advertiser
I love being a parent in the time of Bluey. But Duck Cake nearly broke me
Voice of Real Australia is a regular newsletter from the local news teams of the ACM network, which stretches into every state and territory. Today's is written by Illawarra Mercury deputy editor Kate McIlwain. Normally, I count myself lucky to be a parent in the age of Bluey, which first screened when my eldest child was six weeks old. Over the past 6.5 years, the show about the two Heeler sisters and their parents has been a constant source of humour and solidarity as I parent my own pair of energetic sisters. Even though I've seen every episode more than once, it's still the show I'll sit down to watch with my kids when it's on. But this year, for the first time, I found myself cursing that small blue dog - or more accurately, her little sister Bingo. The reason? Duck Cake. For the uninitiated, Duck Cake - originally called Rubber Ducky - featured in the pages of the hallowed Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book, which millennials like me are now inflicting on our children because of the huge role it played in our own childhoods. (It's such a cultural phenomenon that it's just been memorialised in coin format by the Australian Mint!) It's also the title of an episode of Bluey, in which Bingo chooses the weird apricot-coloured, potato-chip-beaked, popcorn-feathered creation that no one ever used to choose, for her fifth birthday cake "because it makes my tail wag". Her dad, Bandit, is then saddled with recreating Duck Cake - "the hardest of all cakes" - while Chilli and Bingo go out. The episode unfolds with him dropping the duck's head but still producing a wonky cake that Bingo loves, and Bluey learning a lesson about helping with cleaning up and what makes her tail wag. This has catapulted Duck Cake into superstardom for many of the younger members of Gen Alpha, including my kids, and I know of plenty of parents who have now had to make Duck Cake - for real life (IYKYK). My four-year-old had been requesting it for an entire year in the lead up to her birthday, and - thinking she would forget by the time her actual birthday rolled around - I kept agreeing that of course she could have Duck Cake if that's what her heart desired. But reader, she did not forget. Which is how I found myself trying to work out how to engineer a duck from cake and icing ahead of her birthday party. Liquorice was the final straw When I told my school mum friends I was making Duck Cake, some of them just laughed. They all demanded photos of the finished product. One offered advice about using a strong buttercream and plenty of skewers. I actually love making cakes for my kids - and have even baked wedding cakes for several people over the years - but as I made this one, I began to see why Chilli and Bandit use "Duck Cake" in place of that other rhyming expletive. It was the fourth trip to the supermarket to find strap liquorice that did it. I'd made it past the Michelangelo-level cake carving of the duck's body, and managed to make a sturdy head and neck which wasn't going to do a Bandit and fall off. (The head did look a bit like ET instead of a duck, but that was okay because the 1980s alien happens to be my four-year-old's favourite character, go figure). I'd made copious amounts of yellow buttercream and spread it over the duck in the fluffy, artful style of the AWW. And then, having been unable to find suitable liquorice at Aldi and Coles, I was trying to make sure the duck's eyes didn't look deranged. I had first tried leaving off the black outline - which made it look very angry and kind of hypnotised. Then I tried drawing on the black circles with chocolate icing paint. But that quickly began melting down all over the duck's face and I had to scrape it off and start again. So off to Woolies to track down liquorice I went. And I had to buy TWO METRES of the vile stuff, even though I needed two 7cm strips to form the perfect black, wide-eyed circles around the orange smarties I used for eyes. Energy flagging, I turned my attention to a packet of crinkle-cut chips, and began sorting them into piles to see if I could select two that would work for a duck's beak. I found the perfect pair, but then broke them in half because I wasn't careful enough shoving them into the icing the first time. Argh. My daughter then wanted to "help" with the popcorn part, which meant I had to pick it off and do it all again once she got bored. Anyway, in the end, I had produced a Duck Cake that was better than Bandit's but probably not quite as good as the AWW. Success! And at my daughter's party it was total hit on two fronts. Because of the Bluey-effect the kids were delighted, and because it's just bloody difficult, the parents were super impressed too. And of course, the beatific smile on my four-year-old's face as we all sang and blew out the candles made my tail wag, maybe even enough that I'll let her choose whichever cake she likes again next year. Voice of Real Australia is a regular newsletter from the local news teams of the ACM network, which stretches into every state and territory. Today's is written by Illawarra Mercury deputy editor Kate McIlwain. Normally, I count myself lucky to be a parent in the age of Bluey, which first screened when my eldest child was six weeks old. Over the past 6.5 years, the show about the two Heeler sisters and their parents has been a constant source of humour and solidarity as I parent my own pair of energetic sisters. Even though I've seen every episode more than once, it's still the show I'll sit down to watch with my kids when it's on. But this year, for the first time, I found myself cursing that small blue dog - or more accurately, her little sister Bingo. The reason? Duck Cake. For the uninitiated, Duck Cake - originally called Rubber Ducky - featured in the pages of the hallowed Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book, which millennials like me are now inflicting on our children because of the huge role it played in our own childhoods. (It's such a cultural phenomenon that it's just been memorialised in coin format by the Australian Mint!) It's also the title of an episode of Bluey, in which Bingo chooses the weird apricot-coloured, potato-chip-beaked, popcorn-feathered creation that no one ever used to choose, for her fifth birthday cake "because it makes my tail wag". Her dad, Bandit, is then saddled with recreating Duck Cake - "the hardest of all cakes" - while Chilli and Bingo go out. The episode unfolds with him dropping the duck's head but still producing a wonky cake that Bingo loves, and Bluey learning a lesson about helping with cleaning up and what makes her tail wag. This has catapulted Duck Cake into superstardom for many of the younger members of Gen Alpha, including my kids, and I know of plenty of parents who have now had to make Duck Cake - for real life (IYKYK). My four-year-old had been requesting it for an entire year in the lead up to her birthday, and - thinking she would forget by the time her actual birthday rolled around - I kept agreeing that of course she could have Duck Cake if that's what her heart desired. But reader, she did not forget. Which is how I found myself trying to work out how to engineer a duck from cake and icing ahead of her birthday party. Liquorice was the final straw When I told my school mum friends I was making Duck Cake, some of them just laughed. They all demanded photos of the finished product. One offered advice about using a strong buttercream and plenty of skewers. I actually love making cakes for my kids - and have even baked wedding cakes for several people over the years - but as I made this one, I began to see why Chilli and Bandit use "Duck Cake" in place of that other rhyming expletive. It was the fourth trip to the supermarket to find strap liquorice that did it. I'd made it past the Michelangelo-level cake carving of the duck's body, and managed to make a sturdy head and neck which wasn't going to do a Bandit and fall off. (The head did look a bit like ET instead of a duck, but that was okay because the 1980s alien happens to be my four-year-old's favourite character, go figure). I'd made copious amounts of yellow buttercream and spread it over the duck in the fluffy, artful style of the AWW. And then, having been unable to find suitable liquorice at Aldi and Coles, I was trying to make sure the duck's eyes didn't look deranged. I had first tried leaving off the black outline - which made it look very angry and kind of hypnotised. Then I tried drawing on the black circles with chocolate icing paint. But that quickly began melting down all over the duck's face and I had to scrape it off and start again. So off to Woolies to track down liquorice I went. And I had to buy TWO METRES of the vile stuff, even though I needed two 7cm strips to form the perfect black, wide-eyed circles around the orange smarties I used for eyes. Energy flagging, I turned my attention to a packet of crinkle-cut chips, and began sorting them into piles to see if I could select two that would work for a duck's beak. I found the perfect pair, but then broke them in half because I wasn't careful enough shoving them into the icing the first time. Argh. My daughter then wanted to "help" with the popcorn part, which meant I had to pick it off and do it all again once she got bored. Anyway, in the end, I had produced a Duck Cake that was better than Bandit's but probably not quite as good as the AWW. Success! And at my daughter's party it was total hit on two fronts. Because of the Bluey-effect the kids were delighted, and because it's just bloody difficult, the parents were super impressed too. And of course, the beatific smile on my four-year-old's face as we all sang and blew out the candles made my tail wag, maybe even enough that I'll let her choose whichever cake she likes again next year. Voice of Real Australia is a regular newsletter from the local news teams of the ACM network, which stretches into every state and territory. Today's is written by Illawarra Mercury deputy editor Kate McIlwain. Normally, I count myself lucky to be a parent in the age of Bluey, which first screened when my eldest child was six weeks old. Over the past 6.5 years, the show about the two Heeler sisters and their parents has been a constant source of humour and solidarity as I parent my own pair of energetic sisters. Even though I've seen every episode more than once, it's still the show I'll sit down to watch with my kids when it's on. But this year, for the first time, I found myself cursing that small blue dog - or more accurately, her little sister Bingo. The reason? Duck Cake. For the uninitiated, Duck Cake - originally called Rubber Ducky - featured in the pages of the hallowed Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book, which millennials like me are now inflicting on our children because of the huge role it played in our own childhoods. (It's such a cultural phenomenon that it's just been memorialised in coin format by the Australian Mint!) It's also the title of an episode of Bluey, in which Bingo chooses the weird apricot-coloured, potato-chip-beaked, popcorn-feathered creation that no one ever used to choose, for her fifth birthday cake "because it makes my tail wag". Her dad, Bandit, is then saddled with recreating Duck Cake - "the hardest of all cakes" - while Chilli and Bingo go out. The episode unfolds with him dropping the duck's head but still producing a wonky cake that Bingo loves, and Bluey learning a lesson about helping with cleaning up and what makes her tail wag. This has catapulted Duck Cake into superstardom for many of the younger members of Gen Alpha, including my kids, and I know of plenty of parents who have now had to make Duck Cake - for real life (IYKYK). My four-year-old had been requesting it for an entire year in the lead up to her birthday, and - thinking she would forget by the time her actual birthday rolled around - I kept agreeing that of course she could have Duck Cake if that's what her heart desired. But reader, she did not forget. Which is how I found myself trying to work out how to engineer a duck from cake and icing ahead of her birthday party. Liquorice was the final straw When I told my school mum friends I was making Duck Cake, some of them just laughed. They all demanded photos of the finished product. One offered advice about using a strong buttercream and plenty of skewers. I actually love making cakes for my kids - and have even baked wedding cakes for several people over the years - but as I made this one, I began to see why Chilli and Bandit use "Duck Cake" in place of that other rhyming expletive. It was the fourth trip to the supermarket to find strap liquorice that did it. I'd made it past the Michelangelo-level cake carving of the duck's body, and managed to make a sturdy head and neck which wasn't going to do a Bandit and fall off. (The head did look a bit like ET instead of a duck, but that was okay because the 1980s alien happens to be my four-year-old's favourite character, go figure). I'd made copious amounts of yellow buttercream and spread it over the duck in the fluffy, artful style of the AWW. And then, having been unable to find suitable liquorice at Aldi and Coles, I was trying to make sure the duck's eyes didn't look deranged. I had first tried leaving off the black outline - which made it look very angry and kind of hypnotised. Then I tried drawing on the black circles with chocolate icing paint. But that quickly began melting down all over the duck's face and I had to scrape it off and start again. So off to Woolies to track down liquorice I went. And I had to buy TWO METRES of the vile stuff, even though I needed two 7cm strips to form the perfect black, wide-eyed circles around the orange smarties I used for eyes. Energy flagging, I turned my attention to a packet of crinkle-cut chips, and began sorting them into piles to see if I could select two that would work for a duck's beak. I found the perfect pair, but then broke them in half because I wasn't careful enough shoving them into the icing the first time. Argh. My daughter then wanted to "help" with the popcorn part, which meant I had to pick it off and do it all again once she got bored. Anyway, in the end, I had produced a Duck Cake that was better than Bandit's but probably not quite as good as the AWW. Success! And at my daughter's party it was total hit on two fronts. Because of the Bluey-effect the kids were delighted, and because it's just bloody difficult, the parents were super impressed too. And of course, the beatific smile on my four-year-old's face as we all sang and blew out the candles made my tail wag, maybe even enough that I'll let her choose whichever cake she likes again next year. Voice of Real Australia is a regular newsletter from the local news teams of the ACM network, which stretches into every state and territory. Today's is written by Illawarra Mercury deputy editor Kate McIlwain. Normally, I count myself lucky to be a parent in the age of Bluey, which first screened when my eldest child was six weeks old. Over the past 6.5 years, the show about the two Heeler sisters and their parents has been a constant source of humour and solidarity as I parent my own pair of energetic sisters. Even though I've seen every episode more than once, it's still the show I'll sit down to watch with my kids when it's on. But this year, for the first time, I found myself cursing that small blue dog - or more accurately, her little sister Bingo. The reason? Duck Cake. For the uninitiated, Duck Cake - originally called Rubber Ducky - featured in the pages of the hallowed Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Book, which millennials like me are now inflicting on our children because of the huge role it played in our own childhoods. (It's such a cultural phenomenon that it's just been memorialised in coin format by the Australian Mint!) It's also the title of an episode of Bluey, in which Bingo chooses the weird apricot-coloured, potato-chip-beaked, popcorn-feathered creation that no one ever used to choose, for her fifth birthday cake "because it makes my tail wag". Her dad, Bandit, is then saddled with recreating Duck Cake - "the hardest of all cakes" - while Chilli and Bingo go out. The episode unfolds with him dropping the duck's head but still producing a wonky cake that Bingo loves, and Bluey learning a lesson about helping with cleaning up and what makes her tail wag. This has catapulted Duck Cake into superstardom for many of the younger members of Gen Alpha, including my kids, and I know of plenty of parents who have now had to make Duck Cake - for real life (IYKYK). My four-year-old had been requesting it for an entire year in the lead up to her birthday, and - thinking she would forget by the time her actual birthday rolled around - I kept agreeing that of course she could have Duck Cake if that's what her heart desired. But reader, she did not forget. Which is how I found myself trying to work out how to engineer a duck from cake and icing ahead of her birthday party. Liquorice was the final straw When I told my school mum friends I was making Duck Cake, some of them just laughed. They all demanded photos of the finished product. One offered advice about using a strong buttercream and plenty of skewers. I actually love making cakes for my kids - and have even baked wedding cakes for several people over the years - but as I made this one, I began to see why Chilli and Bandit use "Duck Cake" in place of that other rhyming expletive. It was the fourth trip to the supermarket to find strap liquorice that did it. I'd made it past the Michelangelo-level cake carving of the duck's body, and managed to make a sturdy head and neck which wasn't going to do a Bandit and fall off. (The head did look a bit like ET instead of a duck, but that was okay because the 1980s alien happens to be my four-year-old's favourite character, go figure). I'd made copious amounts of yellow buttercream and spread it over the duck in the fluffy, artful style of the AWW. And then, having been unable to find suitable liquorice at Aldi and Coles, I was trying to make sure the duck's eyes didn't look deranged. I had first tried leaving off the black outline - which made it look very angry and kind of hypnotised. Then I tried drawing on the black circles with chocolate icing paint. But that quickly began melting down all over the duck's face and I had to scrape it off and start again. So off to Woolies to track down liquorice I went. And I had to buy TWO METRES of the vile stuff, even though I needed two 7cm strips to form the perfect black, wide-eyed circles around the orange smarties I used for eyes. Energy flagging, I turned my attention to a packet of crinkle-cut chips, and began sorting them into piles to see if I could select two that would work for a duck's beak. I found the perfect pair, but then broke them in half because I wasn't careful enough shoving them into the icing the first time. Argh. My daughter then wanted to "help" with the popcorn part, which meant I had to pick it off and do it all again once she got bored. Anyway, in the end, I had produced a Duck Cake that was better than Bandit's but probably not quite as good as the AWW. Success! And at my daughter's party it was total hit on two fronts. Because of the Bluey-effect the kids were delighted, and because it's just bloody difficult, the parents were super impressed too. And of course, the beatific smile on my four-year-old's face as we all sang and blew out the candles made my tail wag, maybe even enough that I'll let her choose whichever cake she likes again next year.
