It's probably one of the most decadent cakes I have ever seen. It's even topped with chocolate-dipped berries, and the homemade smell is intoxicating.
This slice of heaven has kindly been placed there by my colleagues, who visited a cake stall in the building selling treats in aid of Comic Relief.
They bought a job lot, one big slice for each person my desk.
So, now I have to look at it - and resist - because it's not quite the weekend.
Or should I just scoff it, because it's for charity (ironically in aid if starving kids in Africa), and convince myself if doesn't count...?
This then led me on to think about the other times I kid myself it doesn't count.
IT DOESN'T COUNT WHEN...
- ...it's a sample at a food fair, or food hall in a department store. Cheese? Olives? Fill your boots!
- ... it's eaten straight from the fridge. There's a jar of Merchant Gourmet Dulche du Leche in my fridge which is slowly disappearing.
- ...it's on the plate belonging to your other half. He orders pudding. I ask for two spoons, but the plate remains firmly on his side of the table
- ... your body clock is out of sync due to jet lag. I think we managed to eat nine meals on transit between London and Bangkok.
- ... it's the witching hour. A handful of chocolates to stop the 3am tummy-rumbles? Don't worry about it.
- ... you are in the dark of the cinema and no one can tell you chose the super-size popcorn as well as the family-sized bag of Minstrels.
- ...you need to sample what you have cooked. Seasoning has to be right, doesn't it?
- ... you are heartbroken. It takes a lot of energy to cry, and plan revenge.
- ... you have a legendary hangover. Sometimes only McDonalds' fries AND two Big Macs will do.
- ... it's in aid of charity.... enough said.