The outrage over horse meat being found in ready meals a couple of years back was curious. Quite a few people were upset that they were eating Dobbin. They should have been rather more pissed off that big business doesn't give a monkeys about what they are popping in their pies as long as the shareholders are happy.
This contrived opening is purely to provide a vehicle to show this picture of my Great Grandfather. He was at some times employed as an ostler, and was reputed to be able to talk to horses - surely that only really has any meaning if the horse can understand and maybe can even answer back?
He also, according to my Grandmother, would occasionally serve up unidentified meat that he assured her wasn't horse. That would have been in the 1920s.
What a spiffing looking chap.
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