About a year and a half ago, I got a notion in my pretty little head: I should become a vegetarian. I really like my dog, and I thought a bit of self-discipline wouldn’t go amiss, and I couldn’t really think of any arguments against it. So I did it. And I’ve been vegetarian ever since. I laugh in the face of your horsemeat scandals!

One item of food in particular has lubricated my path along the tunnel of (self-)righteousness: them little scotch egg things made out of Quorn. Ok, so the egg bit in the middle tastes of nothing much in particular and has a texture a bit like finely-ground polystyrene; Ok, so if they are left out in the open for even about ten minutes the outside goes a bit like sandpaper; the fact is that these little morsels are ruddy great. They mean that I can have a thoroughly mediocre yet filling snack safe in the knowledge that no cute lickle aminals have been viciously slaughtered. Well, they have been, but I’m not eating them. And that makes me a very good person indeed.

Now sacrifice a goat or two in my honour.


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