CAKE!!

As the poets of olde Ireland once pondered : 'Cad a dheanfaimid feasta gan caca milis?' Or, (in a tongue which lacks both gargling noises and cajones) - 'What will we do without cake?'
Since dawn first (erm . . .) dawned on the Celtic peoples of Europe cake has played a defining role in their culture. Indeed, as one surveys the present day remnants of the Celtic population, cake fuelled obesity is now becoming a problem rivalled only with the depredations of those sorry perverts that once constituted the ancient Roman Empire. Mar shampla or, (in the lingo where they play bingo) 'for example', just look at the once proud Celtic stronghold of Limerick - recently it had it's patois appellation demoted from 'Stab City' to 'Flab City.' (I believe Sir Terry Wogan had a blue fit when he heard about it.)

The mighty Battenberg Hillfort in the Southern Tyrol of Ballymun stands lofty witness to the rotund nature of the foregone Celts. It's meticulous construction using butter, sugar, eggs, flour and a large oven at 180C proved unassailable to the pork noshing Romans. These orgy-dabbling Latinos (with their penchant for polished footwear and STD's) on several occasions attempted to erase this mighty monument from the landscape. Using siege towers made from air dried ham they released Parmageddon on the Black Forest Celts. The Celts however stood firm and told the agents of SPQR to go yonder 'and shite.'
And the Lord was angry with the warring folk of Europe and with the words 'Let them eat cake,' subjected them all to a ritual act of humiliation by turning them into Christians - put that in your muffins!

The apex of Celtic Cakitecture is unquestionably the Celtic Death Barrow. A intoxicating mix of fruit cake, marzipan and poorly judged relationships. Standing at a height of over four metres the barrow becomes an eternal tomb to foolish young lovers 'undying' love. It's three tier design reflects the tripartite nature of most Irish relationships - namely:
Tier 1: 'I love you darling.'
Tier 2: 'Until death do us part.'
Tier 3: 'You f**king b*tch/b*ll*x (select as appropriate) you've ruined me life.'


And I swear by all that's holy if I hear that meaningless word 'Celtic' ever again I'll kugelhopf the living gingerbread out of the cheesecake that says it.

Until next week fellow Dick Turpin impersonators.