Bacon sandwich bad? That’s b-utter bollocks! THIS WEEK?
EVERYTHING that makes us happy is bad for us. Sugary drinks? Kill you. Chocolate? Makes you fat. Booze? You’re an alky. Fags? You’re virtually dead. Now honest-to-goodness bacon, sausages and ham are said to be more dangerous than just about anything else on earth.
The humble banger, the much-loved breakfast rasher, and the sandwich filling of millions every day, are now said to be a cause of cancer.
Red meat has been placed up there on the danger scales alongside arsenic and asbestos.
Which means the World Health Organisation compares scoffing a bacon butty in the morning to chewing down on an old factory roof.
Their officials say consuming just 50g of processed meat a day – which is less than two ounces and just over one decent sausage – increases the risk of developing bowel cancer by almost a fifth.
Yet the problem with these landmark health rulings is they often turn out to be complete and utter hogwash.
Red wine is a good example – one month it’s deadly, the next it’s beneficial. Although most people agree that like everything else, it’s probably no bad thing in small doses.
Red wine with your breakfast roll, on the other hand, almost certainly is bad for you. Especially if you’re about to set off to work as an airplane captain or crane operator.
But we all know this, don’t we?
The truth is that most people aren’t thick enough to believe that living on a diet of doughnuts, whisky and fags is good for them.
Likewise, sitting beneath a tree waiting for an apple to fall into your hands isn’t the best dietary advice you could ever receive, either.
There is no amazing secret to healthy living out there waiting to be discovered. No super diet that will save us from ourselves. Simply, we are what we are.
Humans guzzle, swill, burp and evacuate pretty much like we have done from the days we still lived in trees (apart from our American cousins, of course, who appear to do a lot more of it).
So fire up the grill. Grab the grub from the fridge. Ladle the butter on the bread. Get a pint down your neck.
Because the health freaks cannot, and will not, take our bacon butties.