14/08/2014 12:32 BST | Updated 22/05/2015 06:12 BST

Hurrah! Great British Bake Off Is Back!

Butter your ramekins, grease your tins and gird your loins for Paul Hollywood's blue steel, Mary Berry's pastel fashion onslaught and the walking cake dustbins and masters of double entendre that are Mel and Sue, because The Great British Bake Off is back. MyDaily's Emma Sleight reports...

Okay, let's start this in the kind of organised manner Mary and Paul would be comfortable with. Let me give you the lowdown on this year's, er, baker's dozen.

Mark, 37: A carpenter with a penchant for edible glitter and the vocal volume to rival Brian Blessed.

Toby, 30: A programmer who looks like The IT Crowd's Chris O'Dowd and, according to his twitter profile, likes tents.

Lucy, 38: A gardener who treats her heritage apple sourdough like a baby and admits to getting up in the night to feed it.

Beca, 31: An army wife who feeds her creations to the willing guinea pigs at the Royal Medical Corps.

Deborah, 51: A dentist famous for the naughtiest sentence uttered so far as she gently prodded her sponge and declared "It's still wet inside."

Rob, 54: Designs satellites, forages for mushrooms and makes technically perfect cakes in his free time.

Howard, 51: A graphic designer who wants to give his cake a 'cakey feel.' Dubbed by twitterers as this year's Brendan.

Frances, 31: Guaranteed to show you up at a bake sale. Produced an actual sandwich and a secret squirrel cake with hazelnut genitalia.

Kimberley, 30: Psychologist, "cake angel" and "flavour magpie." Kim likes to give herself a clap after she bakes.

Ruby, 20: Psychology student Ruby started baking at university and spent most of episode one seasoning her bakes with tears.

Christine, 66: A glamorous gran sporting a Mary Berry bob who made an edible hat.

Ali, 25: Lives at home and has a thing for tarts, especially white chocolate ones.

Glenn, 37: English teacher, Paul Hollywood hair copycat and maker of gigantic, monster cakes.

Are we all up to speed? Excellent. Let's get down to last night's episode. This year's bakers were set the traditional challenge of three bakes over a day, which the magic of TV turns into two days.

Despite sticking in a sunset shot to convince us of a time lapse, the BBC conveniently forgot that the bakers and presenters never change their clothes over these mythical two days. It's as if they expect us to believe that Mary Berry, Queen of floral blazers, would repeat an outfit, the fools.

Anyway, it was tension and horror this week with more sliced-finger carnage than the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan. Ignoring the injuries, the signature bake provided a brief Mills and Boon moment of frisson as Paul back from misadventures in Hollywood, judged Beca's grapefruit cake: he fixed her with his electric blue gaze as she came across all Shy Di, glancing up from under her fringe, eyes fluttering at the onslaught of testosterone with a Bake Off standard combo of flirtation and fear. That was until Paul broke the tension by grunting: "Annoyingly, I really like it."

In between Toby, Ruby, Howard, Christine and Lucy cutting through butter and their own flesh, I started to feel sorry for Mark's oven as the man with no inside voice spent the episode shouting over the dials about temperature and bellowing "SUCCESS" at the battered glass door.

But it didn't take long for all the amateur bakers to crumble as they faced the dreaded technical bake: angel food cake.

Ruby launched into a monologue on flour folding before chucking it all in and, in her own words "massacring it." Toby sugared his cake tin with salt and shouty Mark - "no, no,, no, no...YES"- redefined the basic laws of physics and decided that upside down was the right way up. He was wrong.

Other highlights included Glenn's Gaudi monstrosity masterpiece, Rob's chocolate balloons and Howard's black forest cake complete with tribute to the Bake Off's very own silverback.

Then it was the turn of disastrous duo Ruby and Toby. By this point Ruby has resorted to quoting Berkeley's Theory of Immaterialism, which loosely translates to the winning motto of "if no one sees my shoddy cake then it doesn't exist". Then there was Toby.

Sweaty, bandaged Toby who looked like he'd been through five rounds with Mike Tyson and could only laugh like a man on the edge when all Mary could find to praise was the uniformity of his layers.

After a perfunctory discussion in the powder blue judgment tent, Rob was named star baker and, unsurprisingly, it was Toby's endearing head on the chopping block and he was booted off, leaving blood, sweat and potentially half a thumb behind.

Next week it's bread. Which one of these wounded bakers can impress the King of of the Loaf, Paul Hollywood? There will be blood.

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