Food for Thoughts, Boulestin with Sally Bridgeland, BP Pension Trustees

Walking across Trafalgar Square this heart of British oak almost splintered. There, on the fourth plinth, strutting around without a care in the world was a blue cockerel. It was as Gallic as escargots, and poor old Admiral Nelson must have been able to sniff this garlic-breathed affront from atop his proud column. What have the French ever done to deserve such an honour? Two hours later I had the answer.