A Baker’s Love Song

Oh Miss Joan Currant Bun, Miss Joan Currant Bun,
How Glad I am, sad I am, chuffed that you won
The Baker’s Convention at Chester-le-Street,
Your cakes were phenomenal, the world’s at your feet,
You dazzled with coconut, excelled with fresh cream,
Your icing was masterful, your rock buns a dream,
I sat on the panel and named you the one,
Miss Wonderful, Marvellous, Joan Currant Bun.

Now the convention is over, the bakers are leaving,
As I watch you departing my heart it is heaving,
I cry out to you, Sweetheart, my heart it is done,
I give you my everything, Joan Currant Bun.
And you turn on the concourse and open your arms,
Say, Darling, on you I bestow all my charms,
My recipes, secrets, techniques by the ton,
Please take with the blessing of Joan Currant Bun.

Having Your Cake

Those familiar with The Subaltern's Love Song (and who amongst our readers wouldn't be) will enjoy Max's parody of John Betjeman's poem about the irresistible tennis playing Miss Joan Hunter Dunn. Other will be slightly bemused by a whimsical poem about a baking contest.


Love Songs


Max Scratchmann

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