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Raclette, cheesy crackers, baguettes – even ice-cream is just cheese in waiting.
In Tesco, I was struck by the presence of a paella ready-meal in the chiller cabinet.
I swore I'd keep it for ever, but when I found the hideous thing in my study the other week, I followed "a different train of thought".
I have written before in this column about how deranging chain restaurants are. This week, I want to consider another egregious example: Patisserie Valerie.
Some people shudder at the thought of jellied eels, or blanch if an oyster approaches. Not I.
Chi-pôte-lay isn’t only frequently mispronounced. It’s also continuously misconceived.
Who knows, if things keep on this way, Britain may well become the sort of country where the outcome of a televised baking competition becomes a matter of high social and political importance.
Then, upon my return, there it was! A visitation! A miracle! What a joy it is to be alive in Jeremy Corbyn’s Britain.
The only possible course for the ethical meat-eater is to accept that our diet, in common with so many other of our lifestyle choices, is a matter of what we feel comfortable with, and to leave it at that.
It’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and soup kitchen combined.
I happened to walk into a shop near Richmond Park and found scores if not hundreds of withered and skinny dicks dangling from the ceiling.