I’ll never be a vegetarian

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I’M told that it’s National Vegetarian Week this week.

I’ve only got one small, tincy-wincy problem with vegetarianism - the lack of meat.

Apart from that, I’m all for it. I love a bit of veg, me. Vegetables complement a huge hunk of tender, beef perfectly.

What I can’t understand is how anyone can eat vegetables on their own. How very bland. It makes me ill just thinking about it.

In my mind, a meal without meat, isn’t a meal.

There’s only one thing better to start the day than a bacon cob, and that’s a plate piled high with sausages, bacon, and black pudding, all fried in lashings of beef dripping.

Lunch just isn’t lunch without a lovely bit of roast chicken, and nothing finishes of a good day like a big, juicy pork chop, or a sizzling sirloin steak dripping with bovine blood.

All this meat eating is thirsty work, and I can’t get through the day without washing it all down with a few pints of steaming Bovril.

I’m surprised this vegetarianism thing has caught on. Apparently, even some men are vegetarians these days, but I find that hard to believe.