Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 13 June 2014
I was listening to Radio 4's 'Today' news program this morning, when I heard that one of the presenters - Evan Davis - has a whippet dog called Mr Whippy.
I have said before that I have often thought about getting a whippet just so I could call him by that name, which I thought I was the only person to have come up with, but Mr Davis got there before me.
Mr Whippy is - somehow - going to become involved in the World Cup matches, and this - somehow - involves his unusual passion for carrots. I missed the details about what form this involvement is going to take because I was too busy choking on my coffee.
Apparently, Evan, his partner and Mr Whippy sit on the sofa watching T.V. on their nights off, and it has become apparent that Mr Whippy loves football, even on a screen. He loves any game involving balls, we were told, and Sarah Montague said that he probably enjoyed licking his own too. This added a frisson of illicit excitement to a normally rather dry, war-orientated current affairs bulletin.
So I have sent the Today office an email saying how jealous/pleased I am to learn about this mutt.
I also mentioned - in case they were unaware of it - that when Margaret Thatcher was a food-scientist all those years ago, the one truly successful invention she came up with was the molecular structure of the sweet, fatty mix which enables the dispensation of the faux ice-cream, 'Mr Whippy' from all those vans which blare their way into housing-estates with a fanfare of music composed by Henry the Eighth.
I can no longer look at a Mr Whippy ice-cream van without thinking of Lady Thatcher, and I actually drove past one in my car as I listened to the news of her death on the radio.
I also mentioned that this must be the only wet and sloppy thing that Mrs Thatcher must have been proud to put her name to in her long career.
(Do you think the boy on the tricycle is wearing any underpants?)