It moved into the village last year, we were never officially introduced but it dominates my thoughts.
Its arrival coincided with an incident; for a second time the DVLA stole my driving licence and it took the theft to discover that the cake had arrived. It lives by the chemist, I saw it on a pill trek and it was love at first bite.
I avoid it when I walk to the hairdressers and grocers but the detour to the chemist, post office and paper shop is so short it is rude not to make it.
It has become part of the village community; people flock to see it dressed in its snow capped beauty. If I could drive we would never have met, neither would I chat to wonderful villagers who like me seem drawn to its splendour. The exercise required to reach its home, the DaisyChain Deli, explains away the calories it leaves on my hips. This obsession is similar to my Dexamethasone days and like the Avocado is better than hospital food.
On a plate I contemplate the square, gently sliced, I share the walnut pieces equally. I bite slowly into the moist cake, the sweet and savoury mixture explodes on my tongue.