The Girl at Greggs

I should point out that other High Street bakeries are available....

The Girl At Greggs

I’ll tell you a tale of love unrequited,

That’ll drain your emotions to the dregs,

Of how I made a grand fool of myself,

All because of that gorgeous girl at Greggs.

She was pretty, she was down-right handsome:

About her there was nothing nasty.

She was real classy in her uniform,

And the Queen of the Cornish Pasty.

She moved behind her counter like a tiger,

Serving customers with a flourish.

And shortly I began to have feelings:

My romantic hopes I started to nourish.

Would she ever notice me all forlorn?

Would a girl like her even look twice?

Pining across the Starburst doughnuts,

Lusting after her savoury slice?

I worshipped the ground that she walked on,

I hoped that together we’d have fun.

I admired her loaves, both wholemeal and white,

Her tea-cakes, her croissants and buns.

But I wasn’t alone in seeing her charms:

There was a rival for her heart -

The man from the bakery fancied his chances,

And soon made a play for her mixed berry tart.

I couldn’t compete with his range of pastries,

His slices, and fancies, and pies.

And the size of his macaroons,

I could see had really opened her eyes.

So she cared nothing for me, it was clear,

And I knew that I’d just have to lump it.

The bakery man had all the answers -

So he was the man getting the crumpet.

The baguette and the pain-au-chocolat,

No longer tasted so buttery rich,

I’d missed out on the special meal deal -

There was nothing filling my sandwich.

The coffee had become watery and thin:

It made me feel foolish and sick.

I’d not used my loaf to win her -

I was a pork pie short of a picnic.

My sausage roll seemed smaller next day,

And jelly had gone into my legs:

I began to feel like a real doughnut,

Pining for my beautiful girl at Greggs.

But she no longer works there I’m told,

According to breakfasting chaps.

I’ve moved on to Reeves on the High Street,

And I no longer dream of her baps.

Which just goes to prove that love is painful:

For an omelette you have to crack eggs,

And you can get your cream horn filled anywhere –

You don’t have to go just to Greggs.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013