in search of cake

This weekend past I decided to take a cake to the social function I was attending. Having had a busyish morning I did not have time to make anything myself, but I knew of a cake shop where I would find exactly what I wanted: the closest thing I can find to a cinnamon babka over this side of town. (The best ones to be found are made all the way over at Aviv in Glenhuntly Rd, Elsternwick and I certainly didn’t have time to get all the way over there.) Anyway, I hopped on the train to Yarraville with cash in hand to purchase the cake. Once purchased, I would then get back on the train with my cake for two stops to Newport. Easy.
Except for the Yarraville Street Festival with its attendent droves of shoppers. Who, by the time I got there, had eaten all the cinnamon cake. Every last morsel. All gone. Plan in ruins. Bastards. My only alternative was to buy a chocolate cake. Which I must say was not at all bad. But it was not cinnamon. Disappointment ensues.
The bright spot to my diversion into Yarraville with its (to me) unexpected street festival, was sighting a small group of Mormons (you know, the young lads they send over from the US to evangelise for 6 months or so?). Usually they look so earnest with their bibles and their names tags and their backpacks and their bicycles. Serious business. Have never, ever seen them go a little wild and crazy. Except for Saturday. The three lads had each splurged on a large, sticky pink stick of fairy floss. A good time, no doubt, had by all.