Salt, happiness and Jocky Wilson

The magnificent Mr Puddlecote has posted with his usual perspicacity on the latest scare from the health Nazis (here). The topic is salt. It is a topic that has heated my urine for many years so I'd like to chip in. Since I've been quiet for a while it seems sensible to add another current topic, the Happiness Index, although, being the cunning old boy I am, I include it because it is directly relevant to salt.

First things first. Forget any notion that science can tell us a single thing about the consequences on our health of the ingestion of a given amount of salt. There is no universal maximum or minimum daily amount, there is no way of measuring the amount which is either needed or excessive for any individual, there is no accurate way of measuring how much is being ingested, there is no accurate way of measuring how much is being expelled from the body and there is no way of measuring whether a physical condition that might be caused by excessive salt consumption has in fact been caused by that. All they can ever do it seek to evaluate average needs - no doubt this (if done properly) is a difficult exercise and takes considerable knowledge and skill, but once it's been done it is of absolutely no use to anyone because there is no way of measuring whether any given person is average, below average or above average in their need for salt or in their susceptibility to harm from salt.

For decades it has been peddled that excessive salt consumption can cause high blood pressure and other medical nasties. That might or might not be true, I am sure I once came across a blog dedicated to exposing salt scares that challenged the hypothesis but I can't find it now. Let's assume it is true. We have to be very careful about exactly what we are assuming. Because we all need different amounts of salt in our diet for our bodies to perform efficiently, only consumption above the level we require can be excessive. That is not necessarily the same amount of salt all year round because we sweat more in summer (or in the presence of Joanna Lumley) and will secrete more salt than in winter (or in the presence of Harriet Harman), to maintain a working balance we must take more in summer (Lumley) than in winter (Harman) - unless some other factor interferes to require us to take more in winter. Some claim that we simply pass excessive salt when we dispose of used beverages and they might be correct but that doesn't mean that regular consumption of more than we need cannot have adverse consequences because harm could, in principle, result from that excess quantity being in the body prior to joining gallons of second-hand beer on the floor of the gentlemen's facility at the Dog and Duck.

And then, merely physical need tells only part of the story of human life. The human body is a machine. It takes in fuel and gives out waste products, just like a motor car. The difference between the human body and the motor car is that it is far more than a machine. It has feelings, senses and emotions that are essential parts of life and not things to be left to one side while we deal with the machine only. Food and drink are part of the feelings, senses and emotions aspect of life just as much as they are fuel for the machine. If old Auntie Enid likes a whole shaker of salt on her roast potatoes and would have a miserable Sunday lunch without it, how are we to assess the salt content in her diet? Excessive - because her body didn't need that much to function - or just enough because it gave her a happy time when otherwise she would have felt excluded from the family jollity going on around her?

When thinking of this subject my mind often goes to Jocky Wilson's lager. No, I'm not joking, the point is absolutely serious. Jocky Wilson was one of the great darts players from the late 1970s until the early 1990s. In order to play well he needed to be relaxed and, for him, that required lager. Quite a lot of lager. Once he reached a certain level of intoxication he was almost unbeatable, he had the necessary level of relaxation and concentration to allow him to play as well as anyone in the world. It wasn't something that could be measured. Some days it might be just a few pints, on other days it was measured in gallons but however much was required on the day he strove to continue his consumption in order to keep the level just right. As alcohol was burnt off it had to be replaced and failure to replace it would cause him to be unable to continue playing so well. Other players could perform well without a drink or with less drink but that was irrelevant he wasn't them and he wasn't playing for them. He needed a lot of booze in order to ply his trade at the highest imaginable level - did he drink too much? It depends what you mean by "too much". In each tournament he played his consumption was too little, the right amount or too much, depending on how it affected his throwing arm on the day. In the context of his long-term health it could well have been too much but any less and he would not have been World Champion twice and revered as one of the finest exponents the game has ever known. He is now entirely out of the public eye and is reputed to be living in poor circumstances at least in part because of his fondness for the sight of an empty barrel. One could isolate the booze and say he shouldn't have drunk so much, but that would ignore his achievements which would have been unobtainable without a liver quiverring quantity of drink.

When I was at primary school lunch sometimes included mashed swede. I absolutely hated the taste and I hate it still but the addition of enough salt would allow me to shovel it down and avoid the wrath of the scary dinner lady. Was that "excess" salt (and believe me, it took a lot of salt to mask the taste) bad for me or was it good for me because it allowed my little body to enjoy the benefits of mashed swede? Was the benefit of not being harried by a harridan outweighed by the taking of more salt than was good for my young blood pressure? There's no way of knowing, it cannot be measured.

Mr Puddlecote points out that the great Delia recommends using salt in the preparation of a number of ingredients of a Sunday Lunch. She is, of course, absolutely correct. Vegetables other than legumes, particularly root vegetables, boiled in unsalted water do not develop their best flavour because the temperature is not high enough whereas salted water boils at a higher temperature and that little difference in boiling point makes all the difference to flavour. We are all happier to have flavoursome food than bland food. If the trace of salt in vegetables prepared in this way has adverse health conseqeuences, how are they to be compared to the additional pleasure given by eating a tasty dinner rather than a less tasty dinner? It goes without saying that it cannot be measured. Even the amount of salt in vegetables prepared in that way cannot be measured because some will absorb more than others.

Our Prime Minister believes it wise to spend taxpayers' money on surveys of happiness. It goes without saying that it will be a complete waste of every penny involved for two reasons. Surveys can never measure anything accurately because they only give a snap-shot of opinion on the day the questions are asked. Not only can opinion change the next day but the questions have to be vague to avoid 90% of respondents saying either "not applicable" or "don't know". Secondly, and more importantly, you cannot measure happiness by reference to factors over which politicians have any control.

In relation to salt-consumption scares, try these two questions. "Are you happy that old Auntie Enid enjoyed her day out from her care home, The Coffin Dodgers' Lodge?" Of course the answer is yes. "Are you happy that old Auntie Enid had three times her maximum total daily allowance of salt on her roast potatoes?" The answer might well be "it doesn't matter at her age" but underlying that answer will be acknowledgment of the scare; the full answer would be "yes but she'll probably die before it kicks-in." How does that rate on the happiness meter? Ten out of ten for the first answer and maybe seven for the second. The second question is completely irrelevant to anything other than government statistics. All that matters is the first question because old Auntie Enid only has one life and if that involved an ounce of salt to make a meal just as she likes it she will smile her gummy grin until her final gasp. And the second question need never be asked.

What matters is the quality of life. It is an ephermeral thing, different for everyone at any given time and different for everyone from one moment to the next. Is a longer life more desireable than a second helping of pudding or a good shake of salt on Sunday roasties? That's up to the individual to decide. Time might prove their decision to be right or wrong or it might provide no answer. One thing that is certain is that their happiness will be increased by letting them decide for themselves.

Beware the voluntary vegetarian

When people choose to adopt a cause they do so for reasons, it is not an accident it is the result of applying their mind to something and deciding to follow a particular course. Much of what we do is ingrained in us by the culture in which we grow up. Other cultures have different priorities and their people grow up following different practices. You can see this in all sorts of fields of life. In this context both national and local culture have a part to play, as does family culture.

Religion is an indication of this obvious truth. Why are most Pakistanis Muslim and most Italians Catholic? It's really very obvious and has nothing to do with people making an informed choice of religion after studying the core texts and the centuries of academic critiques of those texts. It is purely a matter of prevailing culture. One could say it is about default positions. If your parents are Muslim, Catholic, Hindu or whatever it is very likely you will be brought up to be a member of the same club, subtle pressures will be applied to you from the day you exit the vulva such that the default position is that you will align yourself to your parents' religion. It will take a deliberate decision on your part to follow a different path. And what made your parents Muslims or Catholics? Again the answer is usually that their parents were Muslims or Catholics. It is far more to do with culture than religious belief and the family religious culture can be reinforced by local or national usage.

The same applies to modes of behaviour. Those brought up to be polite and respectful tend to be polite and respectful, those brought up to bully others in order to get what they want tend to do exactly that. Of course there are exceptions, there always will be, but they are only exceptions they are not the bulk.

So it is again with food. In America very little lamb is eaten because it is not part of their culture. The country has no real tradition of farming sheep so the mothers, grandmothers and great grandmothers didn't cook much lamb, in turn the current generation doesn't cook much lamb. There is nothing dogmatic about it, it's just not something they do over there. Jews and Muslims are intoned not to eat Pinky and Perky and Hindus keep Ermintrude off the menu. America's shunning of the sheep is not doctrinal or dogmatic it is simply the result of generations of practice based on lack of availability. By contrast, the meaty practices of Jews, Muslims and Hindus are based on doctrine or, if you prefer, dogma.

One might think that rejection of a doctrinal/dogmatic cultural practice would result in a radical desire to persuade others of the folly of the doctrine/dogma, but that does not appear to be the case in relation to dietary "rules". The reason for this, I suspect, is that a Jew who likes a nice pork chop has no axe to grind with his cousin who prefers chicken soup. Man cannot live by pork chop alone, so the dietary heretic will probably also take chicken soup and gefilte fish. He might suggest to his cousin that a bit of crackling and apple sauce makes a tasty addition to the diet but knows he has no way of forcing a slice of ham down his cousin's throat. The same applies to Americans who like a crown roast of lamb. All they can do is invite their family and friends to try it but compulsion is not feasible.

And that is where we arrive at vegetarians. Some vegetarians are unfortunate enough to have been brainwashed by their gullible parents into believing that eating meat is not a beneficial lifestyle choice. Others have turned from a sensible balanced diet and chosen to adopt the freakish meat-free path. Not quite all of them are swivel-eyed fanatics and not quite all of them feel the need to impose their views on others, sadly more fall into both these unsavoury categories than is comfortable for civilised existence.

There is a fundamental difference between those who believe others would gain benefits from doing something they do not yet do and those who feel others would gain benefits from ceasing to do something they do currently. The former have no means of securing their desired result other than persuasion. You cannot legislate for people to eat a nice bacon roll but you can, in theory, legislate against the eating of the same product. That ultimate sanction, the criminal law, is the ultimate reward for persistence in arguing a prohibitory cause. Now, I doubt that we will see the consumption of meat outlawed for at least another year or two but the possibility is always there, particularly while the extant Secretary of State for Agriculture is a swivel-eyed vegetarian from a family of hugely wealthy Marxists. All the radical vegetarians feel they need to do is press their dangerous case further and further in the hope of one day reaching their goal.

In reality, their goal is not for the world to be vegetarian. I believe their goal is nothing more than to get their way. Their cause could be anything at all, it is not the particular change of behaviour that matters, it is that they will have forced others to succumb to their will. They are selfish bullies.

Just recently this was exemplified in my local curry house of choice. One evening a week a cleaner visits FatBigot Towers to scrape some filth off the walls; on that evening the property has to be abandoned by all other human life, which decamps to the curry house. One week a vegetarian came in to order a take-away, a single dish of spiced vegetables with plain rice costing a grand total of less than £4. The curry house provides complimentary popadoms and pickles for take-away customers to eat while they wait. The vegetarian consumed the free stuff, paid her tiny bill using a card (thereby costing the restaurant transaction charges), borrowed a stapler, begged a few sheets of A4 paper and left. On a subsequent cleaning evening the same vegetarian returned and placed the same order. Again free food was consumed and payment was made by card. Before leaving she said she used to order from a rival restaurant and was always provided with a selection of free pickles and chutneys along with her order, clearly threatening them with the loss of her valuable custom if they did not provide the same. I happen to know that the other place does not give waiting take-away customers free popadoms but she clearly didn't care to take that into her tiny lentil-addled mind. One might think the owner could hardly believe his ears, after all a take-away order with a minuscule profit margin would be rendered almost worthless to him, but he complied with her request and told me later that take-away customers ordering vegetarian meals almost always wanted additional freebies.

This didn't surprise me at all. Voluntary vegetarians have chosen their dietary path for reasons. Those reasons are almost always borne of selfishness and self-importance, even self-aggrandisement. Like those who sport red Mohican haircuts or rings through their noses they feel they are different from ordinary people. Silly hair and adornments previously reserved for cattle are there for all to see - "look at me, see how different I am, look at me, I wouldn't do anything this absurd unless I were a higher form of life than you, look at me, look at me, look at me". And so it is with those who have chosen to abandon proper food. Never mind the wisdom of countless generations, they know better and because they know better and are superior beings everyone must bow at their knee. And they all look so bloody ill.

The trouble with booze

For as long as I can remember I have drunk quite unfeasibly large quantities of booze. Wine is measured in bottles not glasses, cider in litres not pints and as for gin you can forget laughable pub measures - slosh the stuff in. Days without drink have become more regular in recent times whereas in the past there have been many years without a single dry day. Increased cost hasn't put me off, I just cut back on something else and bogus health scares about numbers of "units" of alcohol consumed and the danger of "binge drinking" are dismissed as pointless sermons from Puritan hypocrites. I drink a lot because I want to, no other reason. My liver is pretty much wrecked now and the battle to keep my blood pressure within measurable limits requires heavy medication. But it has been my conscious choice to lose a few years at the end in order to enjoy the ones I experience.

Over the last twelve months I have experimented with dry days. It's awfully hard work and strangely satisfying in a self-flagellating sort of way, as well as providing a much needed boost for manufacturers of high-juice orange squash. The last couple of weeks have been quite bizarre. Perhaps I have misbehaved in some way and require punishment, although I can't think of any particularly sinful activity that merits reproach, nonetheless six of the fourteen days have been dry including two in succession this time last week. Yesterday was a dry day and resulted in absolute proof that I must drink for the sake of my sanity because last night I dreamt of Gordon Brown.

So dire had public finances become that Gordon decided to convert 10 Downing Street into flats and I bought the basement flat (called the Garden Flat because that's what estate agents do). He stayed on at ground floor level and we had shared use of the garden. One sunny afternoon I was up a ladder cleaning a muddy gutter with my bare hands when the Prime Minister descended the rear stairs carrying a portable piano which he set up on my patio and then donned a flowery dress and proceeded to perform as Mrs Mills. It was all good sing-along stuff and he was at his very campest, even more so than in his recent disastrous YouTube broadcast on MPs' expenses.

What did it mean? I'm no expert on interpreting dreams but if truth be told I'm sure no one can be an expert because there is no way of proving one theory over another. Was it, perhaps, just a hope that Gordon will resign and turn to work more suited to his personal tastes? Did it reflect a previously unknown fetish for fat women with stubble? Was I displaying my desire to be Prime Minister and to not be scared of getting my hands dirty in the task of rescuing the country? There was an additional, and deeply worrying, matter. At one stage Gordon launched into a medley of George Formby songs and sang in a style more reminiscent of Rab C Nesbitt.

Actually, it's quite clear what it means. It means I should not upset my natural equilibrium by the irrationality of temporary teetotalism. I'll drink to that.

A full tummy and a smile

For those of us currently living off our savings treats have to be rationed these days as the returns from main-stream investments tend to be negative, it makes treats even more of a treat than they used to be and causes us to be more discerning in our choice. Being a plump boy, my treats tend to involve food, and at the moment they alternate between Indian and Thai. Saturday was a Thai evening.

Within walking distance of FatBigot Towers there are three Thai restaurants, all of which have experienced my custom at some time but these days I only go to one of them. One of the others is an extraordinary place. I only went there once although I go past it frequently and it never seems to have any customers. My single visit provided me with the worst meal I have ever had the misfortune to pay for, an overcooked starter and bland but decidedly unpleasant main course. It was reasonably cheap by the general way of these things but grossly overpriced for what it was. Never will I darken their door again.

The second is relatively new and quite nicely appointed, I have been there three times. Their food is good but they have a skeleton staff and delays are not unusual. They are noticeably more expensive than the one on my blacklist and a little cheaper than the third. The third is in a different league. It is the most expensive of the three, although not by much, large and extremely well presented with a magnificently stocked bar and waiters and waitresses constantly buzzing about in the background. To my taste the food at the second is marginally better than at the third, yet the third is my establishment of choice in these straightened times.

If a business wants my money it has to pry it from my grasping hand by providing something I really like. The food doesn't have to be spectacular, the wine doesn't have to be fine but the overall experience has to be enjoyable and for me that means clean premises, unobtrusive yet attentive service, no more than one "how is your food?" per course and an overall air of friendliness. It was interesting walking to the restaurant at around 7.30 on Saturday evening. On the way I passed at least a dozen eateries and only two of them were busy, an independent pizza place and the excellent curry house at which I was assailed some weeks ago by the world's most ignorant person (see here). All the others had fewer than a quarter of their tables occupied, including my second-choice Thai establishment.

Walking in a different direction from FatBigot Towers takes me to my favourite local curry house, on that route I pass five or six restaurants including quite a new one also serving Indian food. I ate there a couple of weeks ago and the food was exceptionally good, however I was treated as an inconvenience by the snotty staff. That is perhaps only to be expected by a scruffy, aged, fat alcoholic who decides to impose his shambling self on high-quality premises; yet others welcome me to their business and smile sweetly as I hand-over cash at the end of the evening.

I know who is going to get my cash, it's the place that makes me feel welcome and gives the impression they have enjoyed having me there at least as much as I have enjoyed being their guest. They might be lying. They might want to get rid of me in case other potential customers are put-off by the rancid old man in the corner who looks as though he smells of stale urine, yet they smile through gritted teeth and realise that one scrofulous customer spending real money is worth more to them than any number who might visit but have not done so.

Next Saturday it will be curry again at my usual haunt and I am sure I will leave with a broad grin and a feeling of deep satisfaction with the product I have paid for.

Real food for me, please

A spate of entertaining is about to descend on FatBigot Towers. For reasons lost in the mists of alcohol invitations seem to have been handed out willy-nilly for attendance at the domestic trough and, no doubt, I'll have to do all the cooking. In an idle moment this afternoon I thought about the task ahead and wondered whether I should try some fancy dishes, the sort the cheffy types do on the telly. Fortunately I soon came to my senses. No matter how I approached the subject, I could see no good reason for the menu at FatBigot Towers to list anything other than real food - meat, roots and shoots.

Not that I am decrying poncy nosh, it's rather good fun once in a while to spend a lot of money you don't have on very small portions that taste amazing considering how minuscule they are. There is no point pretending they are a meal, though, they are a fancy snack pretending to be a meal. I've tried making that sort of stuff from time to time and have been quite pleased with the results (leaving aside the many abject failures, of course), but it's an awful lot of work and time and the end product can't soak up much booze, so it's not really suitable for a communal feast with sensible people. The last time I tried something fancy it was from a recipe by Gary Rhodes. Mr Rhodes is the man who finally persuaded me that cheffy stuff isn't real food because he advised that the gravy should be strained through muslin. I mean, really! How has it come to this, that ordinary people who want to try something a bit different have to invest in lengths of muslin and remember not to use fabric conditioner when washing it so as to avoid the sauce getting cloudy? It's all too much fuss and quite disproportionate to any possible benefit.

So I returned to casseroles, roasts, pies, soups and puddings, the stuff I grew up with and everyone I know grew up with. And the thing is, it's so simple. Of course it takes time to work out a combination of ingredients that provides a decent dish, but once that is done you have decades ahead of you in which you can fill tummies to general satisfaction. You also pick up a few little tricks to call on if something goes wrong, but none of them requires a PhD in anything.

Having said that, some people just don't enjoy cooking and others suffer from culinary dyslexia. I know someone who had such a flatmate long ago in undergraduate days, she neither could nor liked to try cooking. On one memorable occasion she was microwaving a pre-prepared meal and exclaimed "Oh god, I hate all this bloody cooking". Fair enough, some just can't get on with the whole thing, so be it, I am sure they are a tiny minority. There are plenty of chilled and frozen products to assist them, so they need not starve (unless they are strict vegans and refuse frozen food for fear it might contain real birds' eyes).

For the last couple of years the cost of food has risen quite considerably, way ahead of average pay increases, so one might think more and more people will be turning to home cooking to keep the price down. The alternative is paying not only for the added cost of ingredients but also for the pleasure of having chicken curry extruded through a stainless steel nozzle in a factory and into a little plastic tray. If you can cut-out the factory and the plastic tray it seems obvious that a meal should be cheaper, and you will know exactly what has gone into it. Perhaps more are cooking proper balanced meals, I certainly hope so.

Yet still there is a stubborn group who seem unable to break the pizza and chips habit. These people's dietary ways are quite beyond my comprehension. At Christmas I heard a distant relative was in hospital with chronic constipation. She is 18 years old and lives (without benefit of clergy) with her boyfriend who is the father of her 18 month-old child. They exist on a diet of cheap pies and pizzas from a well-known chain specialising in frozen food, always with chips. Fruit and veg? You must be joking, the closest they get to fresh vegetables is the lettuce and tomato in their weekly Big Macs. Eighteen years old and hospitalised by the concreting qualities of so-called "convenience" foods. When she was even younger she was guaranteed one proper meal every week or two when she visited her grandparents on Sunday and was presented with a proper meal of roast meat and piles of fresh veg, but those days are behind her. Now she just eats the easy stuff because that is what her mother provided and, frankly, she is too lazy and too blinkered to do anything else. Unless her habits change there seems every prospect of further hospitalisation in the future, it's a desperate situation.

I wonder whether it would take more than someone teaching her a few simple, cheap, nutritious recipes. What about minced beef and onions with peas and mash? Do it the easiest possible way. Hack up a couple of peeled onions, never mind fancy slices, just chop them up a bit, stick the mince in a frying pan and stir it while it cooks, add the onions, crumble in an Oxo cube, add some water. Peel and boil a few potatoes, drain them and mash with a masher. Boil some frozen peas. It's not haute cuisine but you don't even need to bother with optional extras like herbs or spices in with the mince or a thickening agent for the gravy, it's still a good balanced meal and cheap. Or get £2 worth of diced stewing steak at the supermarket, throw it in a casserole dish with a chopped onion, Oxo and water and stick it in the oven for a couple of hours. Mash and peas again if you want, or boiled spuds to save the tedious effort of spending a minute with a masher in your hand. It's really very very simple to turn out basic balanced meals. The level of skill required is no greater than opening a box containing a frozen pizza and remembering to cook it for thirty minutes rather than forty.

The forthcoming guests at FatBigot Towers will get basic simple stuff. There will be no risk of constipation because there will be plenty of veg to go with the casseroles, roasts and pies. I will know exactly what has gone into each meal and they won't get within sniffing distance of an E Number (the system by which artificial food additives are classified by the EU, for those who don't know the term). It's not rocket science, as the saying goes, it's just the provision of the fuel we all need in a cheap and, I hope, tasty combination. It will also provide plenty of blotting paper to help absorb the wines they will bring and, with any luck, a fine time will be had by all.

Prince Charles and GM crops, oh dear

Genetically modified crops, that's the subject of today's waffle because Prince Charles has described them as giving rise to the greatest threat to the world since whatever he last got into a twisted-knicker situation about. Oh yes, I remember now, it was man-made global warming. I must not give the impression that I think Prince Charles is a nutter because I do not, I believe him to be a great asset to this country, I also believe him to be wrong on this issue so I had better explain.

Plants are jolly interesting things. I have taken pleasure over many years from sowing seeds in the greenhouse in early Spring and seeing them turn into little shoots, then pricking them out and seeing further development until they are big and strong enough to be planted out in the garden where they produce flowers or vegetables. Of course not every seed germinates and not every seedling is strong and healthy, the seeds that don't sprout just rot in the compost and the weak seedlings are discarded, my garden only holds the finest examples of each year's greenhouse activity.

In an indirect way I am interfering with the genes of the plants by getting rid of the weaklings because I allow the very best plants to develop seeds and collect those seeds for the next year's Spring sowing. When the following Spring arrives and I waddle to the greenhouse I use the children of the strongest plants, some of the genetic weakness in last year's seeds was eliminated when seeds failed to germinate or seedlings were puny and discarded. Over a number of years the plants I sow become marginally stronger because of this. It is the way commercial seed merchants and plant growers have worked for generations. No doubt it takes a very long time to make any significant difference to the average strength of the gene pool in any given species but removing the runts of the litter does strengthen the next generation which is one reason why we can grow more reliable flowering plants and vegetables today than fifty years ago.

On another aspect of the same subject, as I sit here in my study I can look out over the garden behind FatBigot Towers and see a massive London Plane tree, one of the most beautiful examples you could ever hope to find. The London Plane is genetically modified, it is a cross between the American Sycamore and the Oriental Plane. Like many cross-bred plants it takes some of its qualities from each parent and the reason it has been planted in huge numbers in London and many other cities around the world (I noticed loads of them on a trip to the wonderful city of Chicago) is that the particular cross makes it an excellent large tree for urban areas, much better, indeed, that either of its parents.

Both in the selecting of seeds from healthy plants and in cross-breeding plants we make modifications to what would otherwise be the "natural" gene pool in future generations. I do not hear Prince Charles complain about these processes, perhaps because it has happened on his estates since long before they were his estates.

Genetic engineering of commercial crops is different in method, but not in substance, from what gardeners have been doing in their greenhouses for donkeys' years. It might take two hundred years to breed-out or weaken significantly a gene which makes a crop susceptible to a given disease or attractive to a particular pest, and there are many examples of such breeding having been done successfully (for example some roses have been developed which are resistant to blackspot, potatoes which are resistant to blight and lupins which are not attractive to aphids). I see no difference in substance between removing genetic susceptibilities over months in a laboratory rather than over decades a greenhouse.

No one should imagine that selection of strong parent plants and cross-breeding is always successful, sometimes removing the apparently weak gene leaves a plant open to other diseases or pests because the original version relied on the removed gene as its defence against these attacks. Similarly some cross-breeding produces a new plant with all the weaknesses of both parents. But that is part of the process, there is no magic involved it is all about trial and error.

So, what are the risks of genetically modified crops being harmful? There is no evidence that they are.

If we mean harmful to the people who eat the stuff the answer is that there is no risk. Eating cereals and vegetables gives us carbohydrates, vitamins and fibre but it does not affect our genes. During the digestive process we break the vegetable matter down, absorb the good stuff and dispose of the rest. If we eat the wrong things they can poison us but no one is suggesting that genetic modifications to try to make carrots unattractive to root fly turns them toxic, and if it did they would never be sold. There is no apparent danger to human or animal consumers.

That just leaves other plants. Is there a danger of genetically modified wheat causing harm to non-genetically modified wheat? I do not know, but it seems rather fanciful to suggest that any harm can come from a variety of wheat resistant to a particular disease crossing with a variety which is susceptible to that disease. One problem I can envisage is that a gene which makes a plant susceptible to a pest or disease might also make it resistant to a different pest or disease but it would be surprising to find any GM crop being planted commercially until such potential side-effects had been examined.

Maybe there can be risks beyond my feeble imagination, but I have never heard anyone suggest that current GM crops have caused any problem to anything. By happy coincidence, while writing this piece I am listening to the radio and have just heard a spokesperson from Friends of the Earth support Prince Charles. And what did she say in support? Did she say GM crops are dangerous to humans or animals? No. Did she say GM crops affect other crops adversely? No. All she said is that there is no evidence that GM crops can solve food shortages in poor countries. Friends of the Earth, like all narrow-issue fanatical groups, are very astute to latch onto even the slightest piece of evidence in support of their position and all they can say is that there is no evidence that GM crops will solve the problem of starvation in overpopulated countries. That tells us everything we need to know about the evidence of GM crops being harmful.

Incidentally, that Friends of the Earth support Prince Charles's statement that GM crops are harmful on the basis that there is no evidence that they will solve world poverty tells us a lot about Friends of the Earth.

On this one Prince Charles is, I am sorry to say, barking up the wrong end of the stick.

Rissoles anyone?

Today we witnessed one of the most patronising and irrelevant announcements yet from our hapless government. A Cabinet Office report has investigated many food-related issues including how much food is thrown away in the UK each year. It estimates the weight thrown away to be 4.1 million tonnes annually and the value to be £8 per household per week. Our news bulletins are leading with grinning Gordon telling us to put our houses in order and to stop waste because it is a fine way to save money. As we can expect these days, the statistics are not new, they were contained in a report by an organisation called WRAP published in May 2008 at which time the appropriate minister to speak about it was the one with the most grating, whiny voice, the odious Joan Ruddock.

In May it was an interesting statistical sideshow, today it is a really serious problem. So what, I ask, causes food to be thrown away and who does it?. We can divide the sinners into 3 categories: (i) sellers of food (shops, wholesalers, importers, farmers, slaughterhouses), (ii) restaurants and cafes (iii) people in their homes.

Why do sellers throw food away? I would suggest three reasons: some of it rots before it can be sold, some of it is unsaleable because of EU regulations and some becomes damaged or contaminated. The first and third of these cannot be avoided except by improved efficiency but the commercial incentive to keep such waste to a minimum is already in place. The second cannot be changed except by the Eurocrats. If Gordon wants to make a difference he can campaign to ensure that EU regulations preventing sales of some foods apply only to food which is not fit for consumption. Fruit of the "wrong" shape or size is still fruit and, save in quite exceptional circumstances, is perfectly fit for consumption.

Why do restaurants and cafes throw away food? The reasons are essentially the same. Some is not ordered by customers and goes bad, some is not finished by customers and must be discarded and sometimes even the best cooks get something wrong (perhaps adding a wrong ingredient or accidentally allowing a dish or ingredient to become contaminated). It is hard to see where there is scope for savings without the introduction of potentially dangerous practices such as allowing uneaten food to be re-sold to another customer (yes, I know this happens but that just keeps the current waste figures below what they should be).

Why do we throw away food in our homes? I might not be a perfectly average example, but let's assume I am, why do I throw away food? Sometimes I cook something that turns out to be vile. It was neither my intention nor my desire, but if it tastes awful I'm not going to eat it. Sometimes I buy something I haven't tried before and find I don't like it. Sometimes biscuits go hard or cakes go soft because I haven't got round to eating them. Sometimes a bad apple or potato causes others to rot. If I make too much of something and there is only a little left there is no point saving it because it's not enough to form another meal; if it is enough to form the basis of another meal I do save it. If I have guests at my communal trough and they don't clear their plates I'm certainly not going to save the leftovers and eat something that has been slobbered over by a chum.

These are all just normal incidents of everyday life. They are not evidence of a wasteful spendthrift existence and the scope for reducing or eliminating such examples of waste is minimal. So what can I do? One obvious possibility is making sure I use what I buy to its full potential rather than throwing out a remnant and buying a replacement. For example, if I roast a chicken I could make stock from the carcass every time rather than just occasionally but I still have to throw out the bones whether they have been used merely as support for the flesh while roasting or have then been put to a second use. It is hard to see that making a stock reduces waste, if I need stock I either boil some bones or I use a cube or pre-bought liquid stock concentrate, boiling the bones reduces waste to the extent of one little paper stock cube wrapper per 2 pints of stock and one little cardboard box per 6 or 12 cubes or one little glass bottle (which goes in the recycling) for every gallon of stock - big deal - and, don't forget, boiling bones for stock takes more time, more gas and more money than using a cube.

Of course we could only buy stuff we are going to eat, only cook as much as we need rather than providing jumbo portions and, if we have cooked too much, be fastidious about using leftovers. Surely most of those on a tight budget do this already for sound financial reasons. If Mr & Mrs Poor have not already dug-out Granny Poor's book of rissole recipes they are hardly likely to do so because Gordon and his entourage have flown half way round the globe (for a conference which could have been conducted by satellite link) and has chosen to berate them on television before heading off for a slap-up feast at the expense of the Japanese taxpayer. Equally surely, those of less modest means are hardly likely to respond to Prime Ministerial nagging if the fate of a few slices of last week's salami does not worry them already.

The silly man is tilting at imaginary windmills again. If he wants to help households save £8 a week he could get rid of the zillion quangoes he has established, sack all the political advisers and spin doctors currently pretending to be civil servants and stop taking pointless flights to unnecessary conferences. That should do it. Now stop nagging us you stupid little man.