MUFFINS

"I wanted to make myself a cup of tea,  but frustratingly we have run out of mushrooms", complained Constance to whoever may be within earshot.

"It's a terrible nuisance that we have to go all the way to Amsterdam to buy them," replied Candice loudly. Mrs Bagshott, chairwoman of the Walthamstow branch of the W.I., shot the two ladies a disapproving glance, and furiously buttered a muffin.

She was always doing this. She never ate them, as muffins annoyed her, and as a consequence, the office bin was full to the brim with the things on a regular basis.

Mrs.  Bagshott was a curious name for a twelve year old boy, I always thought.

The motion to let men into the W.I. had been passed with only a two vote majority, and everyone suspected that Constance and Candice had been stoned at the time. Nevertheless to everyone's surprise Mrs Bagshott had proved a capable leader, and a traditionalist.

"Chocolate brownie, Mrs Bagshott?" Asked Constance. "They're my special recipe!"

What they DIDN'T know is that this 'special recipe' contained the middle eight of the song Edelweiss, the number 537, and precipitation. She was never entirely convinced until she had performed her daily trust exercise of shaping her eyebrows to resemble a mother squirrel in front of the mirror.

Today was different though. It was all about to kick off...

Unbeknownst to all, a rival, all male faction of the W.I. Had double-booked the church hall. And here they were, bursting through the thin pasteboard walls of the hall on their cardboard Harley Davidsons, led by Grand Dragon Vulthoom the Mighty. They roared across the parquet flooring towards the refreshment table. 

"Hand over the Magick brownies, ladies!" Cried Vulthoom, brandishing the deadly wand that his four year old daughter had made for him in nursery school.

Candice, however, had long since been an expert at undertaking the 'woolly sock' routine, and as she stood there naked (I'm not entirely sure that the nudity wasn't just gratuitous, if I'm honest), Vulthoom skittered and skidded like a cartoon mackerel on a plate of cold custard, eventually coming to rest upon an open vice in the metalwork room.

Mrs Bagshott wasted no time in tightening the vice around Vulthoom's skull. He roared like the Brian Blessed he closely resembled. 

"If it's brownies you want, then brownies you shall have, my laddie!" said the twelve year old boy in a twinset and pearls.

And she began cramming them into Vulthoom's objecting jaws until...

...until the revellers at this 13th birthday party had enough. As it happened, three of the presents were mushrooms so there was plenty of tea. Mrs Bagshott, oddly, never had mushrooms in her tea anyway, so it was a matter of much mirth at the W.I. for many years to come that an evil warlord like Vulthoom had met his demise at the party. 

They made a coat of arms from his remaining limbs and shared the brownies with the Bulgarian Camel Dancing Group who just happened to be passing.