“Where the bakers who bake till the dawn so we can have cake in the morn mixed Mickey in batter, chanting: ‘Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter! Stir it! Scrape it! Make it! Bake it!’ and they put that batter up to bake a delicious Mickey-cake.”
“…right in the middle of the steaming and the making and the smelling and the baking Mickey poked through and said: ‘I’m not the milk and the milk’s not me! I’m Mickey!’ ”
“To market, to market, to buy a plum cake,
Home again, home again, market is late;
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.”
″‘And three parcels. The big one’s my cake and the square fat one’s probably Aunt Angela.’
Darbishire peered at the parcel, through dusty spectacles. ‘Don’t be crazy; she couldn’t be that shape unless she’d been cremated.‘”
Ah, I guessed likely Marilla ‘d load you up with cake. That’s why I called round. Otherwise I’d have gone to the park to hear the band play with Frank Stockley.