I found a bakery that sells Cornish Pasties, not ‘beef and vegetable pasties’ as Greggs now cravenly call them, but Cornish Pasties. I so nearly remarked to the baker, “Cornish pasties! Great, the real thing! None of that PC EU shit! It’s a victory for good old fashioned British common sense! This bakery is one of the last redoubts against this kind of loony conformist bollockery.”
I would then turn to the old man customer at his table who’d be looking up at me, not only physically because he’s sat at a table, but figuratively too because my words touch his long-suppressed patriotic heart, and he’d raise his tea-cup in cheers to my flag-waving outburst.
Just on the cusp of launching into this polemic, however, I caught myself and realised I was thinking just like Noel Edmonds. My God, what is becoming of me, I thought.
Instead, I fled … but how far can one flee from this most pernicious of ideologies that can hijack the pasty to its cause, let alone me?
Yet … yet … what do the Cornish make of this?
That’s right – pasties.