This morning I was google-mapping my way to my destination with my iphone (how fun to watch the little blue dot moving as you walk!) and couldn’t help noticing a street name I’d never seen before. Brace yourselves…. Cakebread Street! Seriously. Ha! I want to live on Cakebread Street! There are numerable reasons why living on this street would be a good thing, such as:

a) I love cake. Duh.
b) I love bread. Double-duh.
c) I would take great pleasure in telling telephone operators and the like that my address is, in fact, 52 Cakebread Street.
d) When telephone operators and others are suitably sceptical/baffled by said address, I want to be able to say Yes, that’s C-a-k-e-b-r-e-a-d Street, as in carrot CAKE and brown BREAD street.
e) I would hope that living on such a street might satiate my appetite for cake/bread and I would, in turn, eat less of both. (This would never happen, so I can comfortably live in hope without the fear of it actually happening.)

There are boundless positives to living on Cakebread Street. It is presumably full of bakeries and not houses, but I don’t mind living in a bakery (see point e).

The discovery of Cakebread Street marked the start of a good day. So far I have been given a brand new iphone for absolutely-free (ta very much Apple!), had a bit of a vinyl splurge (splurge = fabulously appropriate word for such fabulous extravagance) and got a new key-fob thingymedoodar for my building which means I can actually get into my own home now without having to jump through metaphorical hoops. All in all a highly productive day. I better do some cleaning now to make it all complete. I’m going to listen to a bit of Patsy Cline to start with. Just so you know.