To milk or not to milk

My lovely Quilting Group met for tea today.  As is customary the honour of going into the kitchen and making tea works strictly by rota - with the important deviant in that if a birthday is being celebrated the birthday girl bakes a cake and serves it along with the tea that she has provided. Last Monday we all waited with anticipation for Gill to make the tea. In fact the bewitching hour of 3.30 had passed and she had to be given a quick reminder.  She sprang to the challenge with alacrity and she was off to the kitchen double quick.  A warm smell of light sponge wafted from the oven and needles were being put down as a feeling of anticipation spread through the group.  Tranquillity pierced by a shriek came fro the kitchen
'Oh no, I've forgotten the milk'! What a lively discussion enthused..  Could we drink black tea, Should Gill nip up the road to the village shop, a mere 100 yards away, what were we to do?  Indeed a crisis had arisen, but Gill had it in hand and said she would drive up the road and buy some milk  All good we think, but she is soon back, wet from the rain.
'Someone has blocked me in!' she spoke in a somewhat agitated manner.
'Oh dear, that must be me' answered Alice, a delightfully vague older member of the group.  She hurried out to move her car.  Gill nipped at her heels.  But back they came.
'I STILL can't get out,' cried Gill.  Alice looked flustered and a very kind member of the group immediately spoke up.
'Don't worry Gill I'll walk up to the shop and get it.  I don't mind.'
A little more discussion took place  before Maud was despatched on the milk quest.  I had noticed, whilst all this was going on the the fresh smell of backing wasn't smelling quite as good as it once did. I didn't like to upset the already fraught Gill, but thought intervention was necessary. Gill  threw open the oven door in despair.
'Now the cake is burnt,' she muttered angrily.  Tea, which had once promised such a pleasure was looking decidedly ropey.  It was probably politic to go back to our quilting.  As most of us did. A gust of cold air, we looked up and there was a wind swept Maud, courageously clutching a carton of milk to her chest.
Well done Maud, we chorused.
But in that very momentmoment the kitchen door was flung open with a triumphant cry from Gill.
Don't worry everyone, guess what was hidden under my tea towel?  The milk.'