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I had some Findus Crispy Pancakes today ,
a decision immediately rued ,
got them from Iceland , not off e – bay ,
just fancied some Seventies food.
Last week I had Spam Fritters and Smash ,
then Treacle Pudding boiled in a can ,
a combination which caused my tastebuds to crash ,
not the same without Cresta – It’s frothy , man .
They seemed so exciting in my youth ,
these new and exotic tastes ,
but now , to tell you the truth ,
they are as glamorous as Shiphams meat paste .
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It got me thinking of the players back then ,
the ones who never made the National team ,
because they were different , boil in the bag Uncle Ben
or Rum and Raisin ice cream .
The ones who made the sat , stand
The ones who made the stood , jump
The All Singing , All Dancing One Man Bands
The ones who lit up the dump .
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Duncan McKenzie leaping over Mini’s
and throwing golf balls 125 yards ,
Stan Bowles asking ” Who won the 2,000 Guineas ?”
Frank Worthingtons letter box , full of Valentines Cards .
To play for England , took ” . . . blood , sweat and tears , Son ”
Not poncing around , without a worry .
Just natural talent ? No thanks Alan Hudson ,
Not tracking back ? No thanks Tony Currie .
A steely determination , with legs hewn in a forge ,
gritted teeth for when the going gets harsh ,
Long Hair ? No thanks Charlie George ,
Back heels ? No thanks Rodney Marsh .
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Nowadays our palette is more at ease ,
with grilled Seabass and a bottle of Sparkly ,
served up by Spaniards , Argentinians , Portuguese ,
but I,m still partial to a slice of Ross Barkley .