and soon they are selling like something for which there ought to be a suitable simile when you’re telling a story about a bakery.

On the Wednesday he takes one look at the words “Danish Pastry day” on the rota and immediately bursts into song, turning out tray after tray of beautifully formed and succulent Danish pastries, and on Thursday the excited shriek of “Doughnut day! Yes!!!” heralds an eight-hour shift of doughnuts that God Himself would forgive the sins of a whole world for.

But on Friday:

“I don’t understand it,” says the disappointed supervisor to the master baker. “It’s his cake day and he’s made barely any effort at all.”

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