I was born and raised on meat and two veg, with tinned peaches for tea

This wasn’t fun or great, you allege, and in this speech I agree

My mum and dad weren’t hot on food, but they did use an oven

I’d been a bun in there once when they were rude and did some lovin’

I used to love eating sweets and chocolate, back when I was a kid

I spent my pocket money, quite a lot, but getting fat, well I never did

We had no car so I had to walk far, but the sweet shop was very near

A Mars Bar went far, but Caramac was the top treat, that was quite clear

I got fit eating Marathons, drinking squash, specially lemon and lime

After-Eight mints and iced buns all mashed away, what’s the crime?

Maybe because of these tendencies to go for the sweet things in life

Or gravy-sozzled shepherd’s pies, eating fish fingers with my knife

‘Don’t eat with your knife, Anthony, you’ll cut your tongue,’ scolded Ma

‘Oh get a life,’ thought Anthony back, his hunger unfolding too far

Maybe because of the easy way out, quick fix, instant gratification

I laid into sausages, peas and gravy on chips, Instant Whip on occasion

I liked Walnut Whip too but wasn’t too nuts about the walnut you got on top

Wall’s ice cream and Mr Whippy was nice, but not always did the ice cream van stop

At school they tormented me, sometimes twice weekly, with salad I never could eat

So cruel were the dinner ladies, I sat meekly at table, unable to meet

Panda-like demands to eat beetroots and leaves before leaving my chair for playtime

I wondered how kids didn’t heave with such seemingly poisonous fare sometimes

Tomatoes froze my heart with terror, though too many times, the error was made

To part those inedible things in half: see the slime and the seeds: be afraid!

Meanwhile there was broccoli that looked awfully like baby trees from Amazon

In similar style, there was cauli-flower; ‘I’m too full Mum, even with cheese on!’

Cheese on toast was the most, or beans with grated cheese on top, oh stop, it’s so yum

So great on the plate watching fateful scenes from World at War, sitting next to my Mum

In those days we sat round the table but eating in front of the TV was fab

After playing out in the snow, getting into no trouble, this treat on our lap

In front of the fire, knees roasting, our toast going down, strands of cheese stretching out

Like wire or elastic bands, knowing most wouldn’t be easy to fit in my mouth

Like spaghetti! Forking hell, that must be some sort of wind-up, a practical joke

Who’ll ever forget the unfortunate tale of that first time, when you either choke

From putting it all in unwound, or winding it round and then watching it slip

The muttering as you find bits on the ground, and your crotch is all covered in drips

Eggs are excellent, the not-so mellow yellow yolk continues to amuse me

Example? I’d sample the delicate white bit, coaxed in my buccal cavity

But I’d be even more vocal about the golden centre, sunny orange blob

It’s no yolk, my hold on reality went up the Swannee, with that in my gob

Putting flesh on the bone, though veggies may groan, my favourite part was the fat

On Sunday lunch chops, straight from butcher’s shops, that was such a hit with this lad

Sunny summer mornings, no longer yawning, when I saw bacon sizzling; the rind

Was best eaten raw, if the cat’s claw had not caught it before I came down in time

My mother would dangle rinds from kitchen worktop and pussy would not stop until

Another long piece had been mangled... ‘The bitch,’ I thought, ‘I wanted my fill…’

The bitch being pussy, not Mummy, of course, as our female feline would eat mine

Because I’m so fussy, my tummy’s main course without fail would always decline

Most veg and most fruit, no matter how cute it all looks, or smells, even tastes

I’d wedge it all into a beautiful Matterhorn on the far side of the plate

I’d see other people devouring their greens and salads with remarkable relish

While I’d be in bother, my mother glowering as her silly lad played with his radish

A dish fit for peasants I’d strangely find pleasant, while angelic food I disdained

I wished that it wasn’t, but I had incessant insistence on energy gain

That was instant and insofar as it enabled me to escape table, and

Be sat again in front of our colour TV, it never left me, though I can

Blame my parents’ ways, raising me religiously on meat and two veg, I guess

The same pair made us say grace, a phase that retreated, phrases with which food was blessed

Til children grew up to a godless world without the tooth fairy or Santa Claus

And old ’uns who blew up our heads, who were thrilled with us, filled us with lies, rode their hearse

The old house, which was a new house then, its dining room too tiny to find room in

Though cold outside, all cosy inside, supping our tea, as Muppet Shows begin

In the other room! This was our family time, even though there was so little to say

Besides mother examining how many cakes I’m eating, and how few bits that they

Say I should be eating, and that I’m defeating myself, and that I should wise up

Must I keep repeating, and not just with eating, that health is surprisingly tough?

You can get by with little, at Aldi or Lidl, and Asda, it ’as ter be said

What matters is not what’s the platter, or what’s in your middle, but what’s in your head.