Once a year my village holds a market for the locals to sell their wares. I baked a couple of cakes to flog – one was priced at a pound, and the other one was a fiver.
A chap stopped at my stall and looked at the cakes, before pointing at the one costing a fiver and asking, “what type of cake is that one, then?”
I replied, “That’s Madeira cake!”
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