“The muffin man, who traditionally bore his ware on his head, and the
signal of his approach – the ringing of a handbell – was on of the most
joyous sounds in a Victorian childhood, continued in business until the
Second World War.”
´Peoples likes them warm, sir.´ an old man told him, ´To satisfy them
they´re fresh, and they almost always are fresh; but it can’t matter so
much about their being warm, as they have to be toasted again. I only
wish good butter was a sight cheaper, and that would make them go.
Butter’s half the battle.’
(source: http://19thcentury.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/our-ice-cream-van-was-their-muffin-man-guest-post/ )
Never thought I would have the opportunity to link to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ptoN-5QE0Lw
I was thinking of that tune from Mojo Nixon…
/me is aghast. “Are you talking about the one about Martha Quin?”
“Near the summit of a dense, but radient, muffin of his own design.”
Can you imagine my typists joy when, one day, his youngest daugther, then eigth, spontaneously brok out in song: “Girl, you thought he was a man, but he was a muffin!”
*reaches through the screen and shakes Pilipo’s hand*
Yes, yes I can.