Jamaican Mud Cake

Names are just weird. Like, something sticks, and that’s that. No getting rid of it.

I just had a ‘Jamaican mud cake’ from a cafe, and while it was excellent and totally worth the calories, I couldn’t help but wonder why it was called that. Then I had an image of two people with thick northern English accents in the kitchen, and one of them says “hey, what ‘cha makin’?” and the other one says “Mud cake!”, and it sounds like ‘Jamaican mud cake’, and, well…it made me laugh, anyway.

It wasn’t quite as bad as the one time I went to get my car serviced in Hawthorn. I heard one of the mechanics talking about a Hyundai, and I said “well maybe you should pull them down before you get a wedgie!” and I laughed, and that’s why I don’t get car servicing done in Hawthorn anymore. Hey…it’s for everyone’s own good, I’ll have you know. They don’t need to be reminded of the horrible (actually wonderful) pun that I made, so I’m doing them a kindness. I can’t help playing with names, though. It is within my nature. I’m a wordsmith, and my talent cannot be suppressed.

I think cars in general just invite themselves for this sorts of things, and when I’m in a car garage for servicing and I see all of the different makes and models, I can’t help myself. Like, “Kia, wouldn’t wanna be ya!” and “Holden tight, spider-monkey,” and “I wish I could a-FORD such a nice car.”

Anyway, I’m bringing in my classic Ford Anglia (don’t drive Angry…eh?) to a car servicing garage near South Yarra, and I’m still hoping to find someone who appreciates my wordplay. I’m still working on ‘Ferrari’, though.

‘Are we human…Ferrari dancing?’

It needs work. Maybe if I was dancing IN the Ferrari…