I had to go to this happy place in my mind after getting a headache wondering whether gun control was ever going to replace "thoughts and prayers" as America's top method of protecting its citizens from armed loose units.

I shifted my focus to another loose unit, but on the other side of the world.

In a troubling attack in Paris, a man dressed as an "old lady in a wheelchair" chucked a cream sponge at the Mona Lisa.

It was an unusual attack, as French protesters are known for blowing things up. Still, the cake-chucker's stand in The Louvre was pretty explosive, attracting global media attention and, no doubt, a list of charges for the daring activist.

It troubled me, and not because the Renaissance masterpiece had been vandalised again. The attack this time wasn't too bad, as the Mona Lisa is protected by super-duper glass. In the past, she has been pelted with a rock, a teacup and acid.

I imagine that the guards' reaction to this week's attack was (I've translated it for your convenience): "Flippin' heck, here we go again. Henri, grab the Windex".

It's hard being the Mona Lisa. But she grins and bears it.

I was more unsettled by peeved Pierre's grand protest statement, which was: "Think about the Earth!"

How about thinking about the cake, mate?

I've been to Paris a few times, and I reckon there's not a bad cake in that city.

It's not like here, where you can visit a supermarket, or the odd petrol station, and pick up something that resembles a cake but tastes like a polyester cushion insert covered in coloured road base.

Life's too short to eat bad cake.

As Prue Leith comments when she samples a dodgy offering on The Great British Bake Off: "It's not worth the calories".

However, cakes in Paris, indeed, most of France, are rarely ordinary.

Wasting good cake is a crime in my book.

My thoughts have been occupied also by the Herald's recent front-page photo of that gigantic freight container cake. The Port of Newcastle had ordered it to celebrate the announcement of $250 million funding for a container terminal. It didn't happen.

That cake, which appeared bigger than my lounge room by the way, looked mighty fine.

I'd love to know what happened to it.

Hopefully, in the carve up, the cake was packed into a bulk load of Tupperware and shipped off to a few hundred appreciative homes.

Who knows? Pieces of the cake might be stowed in a few freezers around the place.

This would be handy if there was a real "win for the Hunter" worth celebrating in the future. Maybe the pieces could be re-fashioned into a Very Fast Train cake?

But I'd suggest not hitting the defrost button yet.

Like the Mona Lisa, we'll just have to sit and wait for what's coming.

Hopefully, it won't be a few crumbs.

I'll dig out the good china and put on the kettle.

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