Two: "You want to make sure you've got a nice clean kitchen. Cheese attracts mould. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it will make a difference to your cheese." Buoyed, I return home with several pints of whole milk, and turn to the Cheese Making Shop's basic kit for soft cheese, with a curious collection of accessories: its thermometer, sieve, mould, a sort of bandage, and a chemical labelled -- slightly alarmingly -- "dickmilch". What this all means, I don't know, but I fully expect to be savouring homemade fromage soon. "Warm the milk to 30C," it says. Fine. "Add 100ml of the prepared mother culture, instructions in the envelope." Nervously, I open the envelope. This is fast becoming something out of a murder mystery meal. "The ripening of the cheese culture will take 20-24 hours," says a bit of paper. My heart sinks. Twenty-four hours ? It's already 11pm. I heat milk to 90C, and am told to add the quaintly named dickmilch after it has cooled to room temperature. Stupidly, I add it too soon. In a panic, I take the glass jar outside in the freezing night air. Twenty minutes later, the milk has cooled, I put it in the sink. The glass -- stressed at the sudden rise in temperature -- cracks. You know the rest. I abandon this cheese. It may be just the thing for those with time and skill; I want something that requires even less expertise than the little demanded by