More, Moore

After what was just a taste, a demi of Moore yesterday, I woke up wanting a bit more, Moore. So here's Roger. Note, there's no Eccles cakes on Roger. Another name for Eccles cakes is dead-fly-cakes (on account of their current filled hearts - black hearts). So you could also say, there's no flies on Sir Roger.

I've got a plan. I'm going to act as a sort of middleman. I aim to fill the world's largest bra with the world's largest Eccles cake - half the cake in each cup.

But in the meantime, I've got a golf course to manage. So it's back to uni and a new term, with bunkers and holes at every turn. But before I go lets consider the formal (rather than edible) relationship between the Eccles cake and the golf bunker.

The funny thing is, in dreams Eccles cakes are more lardy and pallid, more the hue of the golf bunker. Yet, when I dream I'm trapped in a bunker, the sand is sun-kissed, honey coloured, like the world's largest Eccles cake. I hope the Candy Coloured Sandman visits me tonight. I'm going to put it to him.