Sibyl's in her early fifties and embracing the mature-ladyness. Baking's almost as much fun as painting, and if you do it right, just as messy.

She's left the city far behind. Nominally, she runs a B&B in west Wales; but she took away enough money from the (protracted and noisy) divorce from her art dealer husband that she doesn't really need the guests. When they do come, they tend to find themselves participants in Sibyl's fusion of hospitality and boundary-challenging performance art and leave in a hurry. The philistines.