Hello boys and girls
Today we will hear the story of a cake trapped in the land of pudding.
Our tale begins in the sleepy little place called mixedfruitberg, home to 12,200 puddings precisely. It’s a dry sort of place a bit like an English merchant bankers convention. Every thing in its proper place and everything accounted for. Down the main street, glazed cherry blvd there’s not a cashew nut out of place or a scruffy looking sultana to be seen anywhere. Its 4 in the morning and it is completely dark (the powers that be had a meeting and the majority voted to extinguish street lights after 11 to save money) no wind blows as it did not acquire the proper permit to blow after 7pm. suddenly a flash, a shriek, a bellowed oath and a small cake appeared on the street steaming slightly. At precisely 6:45 am the next morning, the wake up bell sounded and the town began the orderly procession to work. The town clock read 7:00 am on the dot (the towns committee requisitioned an atomic clock as they always keep perfect time) when the people of mixedfruitberg stepped out of their homes and froze. The sound of thunderous snoring and other bodily noises issued from what most dared not think in the early morning fog (the fog having pre booked and applied to appear at this time and date 3 months before handing in all forms in triplicate). The cake was aware of a strange noise kinda like the sound of a beater on low power, he lifted his head and uttered "fug orf we ya" and rolled over. Now mixedfruiteans, who are not normally accustomed to disorder and bad language (be it intelligible or not) where quite perturbed at this strange turn of events. Who was this?........ What was this?.........surly he doesn’t have the proper permit. Another tremendous snore rocked the onlookers as the strange object rolled on to its back (when I say back I mean the flattest part as he was completely cylindrical in shape) the mixedfruiteans looked appalled as they realised what this thing was. The mayor of mixedfruitberg (having won the right to be mayor by filling in all his standard bribe forms correctly) slowly walked out to the prostrate figure in the dustless main street (the dust, having made a rudimentary signing error on one of its permit forms was forbidden to work today). With a stick in his hand the mayor strode up to the cake in the street and poked him once quite hard in side, "I swear she was 16" moaned the cake and rolled away from the attack on his slumber. The mayor turned an interesting shade of orange (which is an amazing feat for a pudding) and walked back into his office muttering, "Where are those soggy arresting vagabond forms".
Tune in next time for the continued adventures of a cake trapped in the land of pudding.
And in the immortal words of Monty python
"Drop your panties sir William I cannot wait till lunch time"