THE NEWSDESK: Horses - ride them or eat them?
A scandal has blown up over the amount of horsemeat being found in the UK foodchain. Time to visit the butcher...
I’VE had this strange feeling all week, like I have been sucked into an alternate universe where episodes of Father Ted and Blackadder have been stitched together in some unholy mash-up.
A mash-up where the ghost of Richard III strides around shouting: “My horse, my horse... my Findus for a horse...”
A reality where Ted and Dougal are sitting around the table.
“So, the beef’s up to 100 per cent horse, Ted...”
“And they’re testing for horse drugs, Ted...”
“So where does the milk come from, Ted? Is that horse milk now?”
“No, Dougal, that’s still from cows...”
“Oh... And do the cows race at the track now, Ted?”
Dougal starts murmuring: “My Lovely Horse”.
Environment Minister Owen Paterson enters stage left and says he is “absolutely determined” to get answers about food testing in the UK at a summit into the horsemeat scandal.
Father Jack swaps his optics full of booze for a row of test-tubes and stained lab coat.
“DNA!” he shouts.
It’s a world where a First World War Baldrick serves up dinner to Mrs Doyle and says proudly: “It’s boiled pony.”
A universe where dreadful horse jokes have hijacked the web– spaghetti bolog-neighs. #feeltheshame.
An internet where one can calculate the approximate level of horse consumption based on the number of ready meals found to contain horsemeat one has eaten. Ah look, Old Uncle Fred has consumed a whole haunch.
For a country which spends much of its spare time glued to cooking programmes and food porn, the horsemeat saga is a wake-up call.
Horsemeat may not be in itself a health risk, but it is clearly not what people thought they were buying.
There is only one way to truly know what we are putting into our stomachs. We should watch less food TV and actually cook more from scratch with ingredients which have not been passed halfway around Europe before they get to our plate.
King, but still a squalid end
THERE are people who still believe man never went to the moon, despite the fact that scientists have bounced beams of light off man-made objects on the moon’s surface.
So don’t be surprised that in the inexact world of archaeology there are conspiracy theorists who are doubting the University of Leicester’s findings about the remains of Richard III, pictured here.
Despite the DNA testing match between the bones and descendants of the House of York, despite the written evidence.
Though what benefit such a conspiracy would have beats me.
What we have here is a lesson about the fleeting nature of power for all of us.
Richard III may have been king, but he ended up with a knife-wound to his nether regions in a car park.
The pinny doesn’t suit, Beyonce
WHAT a cynical move from Beyonce!
What better way to divert attention from the mime-gate saga than to re-invent herself as Mrs Carter?
Shocked by the behaviour of Beyonce Knowles in mouthing along to her song when we all thought better of her?
Forget that ill-advised woman and meet, in her place, Mrs Carter, the home-spun other half of Jay Z (Shawn Carter), ready to drop everything and fry her man some chicken rather than warbling on about being an independent woman or a honey who makes the money.
What I had liked about Beyonce was her refusal to play along with that coy game while she flogged her latest album/tour/fragrance.
The problem with the namechange stuff for her is, though, that once you are just known by your first name – like Madonna, Britney, Shakira – those little wifey rules can never apply.
And all you do is leave us with slightly less respect for you.