As little students urchins in deepest, darkest L13, we baked up a big batch of magic cakes and left them to cool atop the oven. Flatmate Jo's mother turned up (a constant danger, as she lived in Stockport, but sometimes she'd bring food, for some reason she believed her daughter couldn't survive purely on baked beans and the occasional Marlboro Lite) and was left unattended with said cakes.
She helped herself.
Hilarity ensued.