Most unusually, I’ve been baking cakes just recently.

We took a trip to Bere Marsh Farm in the Blackmore Vale, and picked up a bag of mixed apples. In it were the most gorgeous Russets, but also another apple - which is apparently a Blenheim Orange - that has a lighter, foamier, flesh than a Cox.

They both taste like garden apples should - that immediate floral note swiftly followed by the sharpness that is then taken down by the sweetness. The difference between these and supermarket apples is quite ridiculously marked.

The flavour was echoed in the Apple Juice that we also came home with. Pressed at Bere Marsh Farm, it is by far and away the best apple juice I’ve ever tasted.

My Cinnamon Apple Cake would take care of three big apples if you ever find yourself with three extra - although I wouldn't try to take care of a glut of apples by making successive Cinnamon Apple Cakes. Not if you want to stay out of hospital, that is!

This cake is more of a dessert than a cake, strictly speaking, and is so completely and utterly divine and moreish, that you could easily overdose. So be warned!

The Blenheim Oranges have sat there (while we munched our way through the gorgeous Russets - our favourite apples) while I've been deciding what to do with them.

Somewhere in the fevered far reaches of my brain, a plan had started to form as regards an apple cake. Built along the lines of a muffin mix (i.e. using vegetable oil instead of butter) it is supported by ground almonds for texture and weight. A dash of cinnamon too, because cinnamon always goes well with apple and just in case the cooking chases all the flavour from these apples.

I was in two minds as to whether to grate the apples, or cube them. I even contemplated doing both, but was glad I settled for the cubes. The foamy texture of the apple flesh would have simply disintegrated had it have been grated. As small cubes, it transformed into semi-dried apple that lent a lovely chewiness to the mix.

This is the kind of cake that just demands - because of its sweetness - to be served with, ideally, a blob of crème fraiche. Purely by coincidence, I happened to have a tub of crème fraiche d'Isigny in the fridge, which was absolutely perfect. I really don't think that cream would have done the same job. To my mind, you need the slight sharpness of the crème fraiche as light relief from the sweetness of the cake.

As a dessert, or for a High Tea, or as part of an Afternoon Tea arrangement, I don't think you could beat this cake. It is as easy to make as muffins are - with no requirement for blenders, mixers or food processors. Just a whopping great big bowl and a spoon. Can't say fairer than that!

My other venture into cake baking is another one that is really easy to make and which came about by the best means possible – by being handed on.

However, first I must explain about Jack's Mum's Library Book Marmalade Cake.

I'd been having a discussion via Twitter with my friend Jack about his family cookery books that have been handed down to him.

In one of these tomes was the recipe for his Mum's Marmalade Cake, which she in turn had found the recipe for in the back of a library book. Successive members of his family have since made the cake and it forms part of his childhood.

I sat down to make the cake and, having got halfway through discovered that the jar of marmalade that I remembered being in the cupboard wasn't there any more! However, there was a jar of Lemon & Lime marmalade that got subbed pretty darned quickly.

To boost the lemony flavour, I also included the zest from a lemon - as I felt the orange zest wouldn't do a great deal without any orange marmalade to boost it. I then crossed my fingers firmly and put it in the oven.

The cake that came out was completely gorgeous. Buttery, fruity and with a close crumb yet it was light and airy with it. The top baked to a lovely brown finish and the sugar that I'd sprinkled over helped with a welcome crunch. Perfect with a cup of tea.