She's right. Poppy's parents are food professionals'. He's a TV chef - she's a food photographer! Making Fairy Cakes for their child would be a sharp slap in the face of all that they stand for. It is the childish option. It is not something that a godfather would do. But how do I do it? How do I cook a cake for a small child? Do I have the right pans? How long do I boil it?

'Colin, how do you cook a cake?'

It was the same night and Colin had agreed to meet me for an emergency pint.

'Why do you need to know?' he asked. 'You can get them in shops. Or make Fairy Cakes.'

'I need to make my own,' I said. 'They will know if I don't. It would be a sharp slap in the face of all that they stand for. I need to show responsibility! I'm a godfather! And I've promised a small child!'

'You need an egg, I think,' said Colin, tapping his chin. 'And you cook it with that. You break it up and then you whisk it and then you have a cake.'

'There must be more to it than that,' I said, confused.

'Breadcrumbs,' said Colin. 'You put breadcrumbs on it and that makes it into a cake.'

'That's a Scotch egg you're describing! I can't give her a Scotch egg!'

'Put a candle on it. Or sprinkles. You can put sprinkles on anything and they'll love it. Put some sprinkles on an egg, she won't know the difference. That's what I'd do.'

Colin once worked for the Citizens Advice Bureau.

'Where do you get sprinkles?' I asked, now panicked. Colin shrugged. 'I think you can only get them on-line.'

On the way home, I bought some sprinkles from the newsagent on the corner, and studied them as I walked. This small and colourful tub now represented a new and frightening me. A grown-up me. A me of responsibility. Accountability. A me you can trust. A me who would offer to bake your child a cake, and then go out and buy some sprinkles so it would taste less bad.

Perhaps, I considered, this means I am growing up. Perhaps this small and simple gesture has been waiting inside me for years, biding its time, preparing to come out, gestating and refining itself. Perhaps subconsciously, I have been needing to make a cake for a small child and then buy some sprinkles from a Happy Shopper.

I can do this. For I am a godfather!

It is an hour before they arrive, and I have burnt the Fairy Cakes. I have tried to mask the burnt bits with sprinkles but the tub the newsagents sold me was out of date and they have expanded and congealed.

I consider the Scotch egg at the back of the fridge, but I've run out of candles.