Bisquet, Anyone?

Would it surprise you to learn that I have arrived home from my pottery class covered in clay?

Would it surprise you even less to learn that I have nothing to show for this porous state except five rather damp and malformed lumps of clay sitting in a placky bag?

At one point the slimy tower of clay I had in front of me was getting wobblier and wobblier and I was pressing down on the wheel-accelerator thing harder and harder and I was convinced that the whole thing was going to fly off into space, or at the very least lob across the room and land without grace or style in someone's handbag.

Which would have given rise to an awkward moment.