You ladies are never happy,
With the way your body has worn,
It would appear you've all been gaining weight,
Since the day that you were born.
You all like to be slim and well rounded,
Like a Venus figure with arms,
A sweet smiling person that everyone loves,
Filled with kindness and charms.
There is a place that will help you,
No, it's nothing like a gym,
But if you try, you can lose weight,
They call it Slim and Trim.
They will help you with your diet,
Stop you eating puddings and bread,
And all those drinkies don't help much,
They only go straight to your head.
You have lots of talks and discussions,
About how to become slim and trim,
And when you've exhausted that subject,
You can have a little talk about HIM.
How he cannot look after his money,
And he insists on being well fed,
You can discuss his overall performance,
Including the one in bed.
Why not come along, you can't go wrong,
The company here is great,
I'm sure you will enjoy it,
Even if you don't lose weight.



Poem written by Harry Lawes 2003
Copyright 2003

Way back in the 1930's,
When bread was 'the staff of life'.
Give us this, our daily bread,
Was more important than having a wife.
With a little butter or margarine,
And perhaps strawberry jam on Sunday,
With a little careful spreading,
It would last up until Monday.
Dripping and lard was an added variety,
Spread on toast in front of the fire,
Sprinkled with salt - it tasted good,
With a toasting fork made out of wire.
The colour of the crust varied a bit,
From brown to very near black,
In fact my old granny might be heard to say,
"They should give that old baker the sack".
Our bread was delivered by horse and van,
With Harding's Steam Bakery on the side,
And a row of gold medals to let you know,
That they made their bread with great pride.
The horse was fed there in the street,
From a nose bag made of leather,
We had to admit he ponged a bit,
Particularly in warm weather.
In 1939 when war began,
And some foods were put on ration,
And later on it was decreed,
That all bread would change in fashion.
It changed in colour as time went on,
And the taste caused many a frown,
And instead of being snowy white,
It became a dirty brown.
We longed for that terrible war to end,
When we could all sleep safely in bed,
And for all our brave young men to come home,
And we could all eat 'PROPER BREAD'.

Poem written by Harry Lawes 2003
Copyright 2003