A recent trip to China left my meat-eating partner reeling at this culture's utterly honest and literal descriptions of meat dishes on their menus.

Sometimes translated into English, the meal descriptions used such phrases as "pig intestine" and "cow innards" to explain exactly what the dish contained.

His horror left me giggling, and also curious as to exactly what the problem was - a problem I've no doubt many meat-eaters in this country would understand.

So the Chinese don't make up names for some of the meat they eat in order to distance themselves from the animal that's been slaughtered.

So what?

Is it better that we Westerners try and disguise what actually goes on to bring meat to the plate, by calling it pork instead of cute little piggy, or beef so we're not reminded of the gentle cows peacefully chewing the cud in the fields?

I think not.

Rather, it actually smacks a little of hypocrisy - especially in a modern society with so much factory farming, and so little regard for the welfare of the animals brought to our plates.

Perhaps it's about time our labelling was a little more truthful in all areas?

  • We decided to have a romantic evening the other night, my boyfriend and I, in the truly quintessential English way - getting a portion of chips from a traditional fish and chip shop and driving to the Viewpoint in Parkstone, to sit and gaze out over Poole Harbour.

It was a lovely evening, with the setting sun bursting through the cloud cover in dramatic rays.

It should have been perfect - peaceful and picturesque.

And while no one could have ruined the fabulous scenery, the arrival of some foul-mouthed thugs, in the form of two young mums and their poor offspring, managed to completely ruin the atmosphere, particularly as they tried to intimidate us with violent conduct.

In fact, we ended up feeling so uncomfort-able we felt like we should leave before we ended up with a bottle in our faces - and this at 6pm on a late summer's evening.

  • Watching the weekend's rugby in the pub with friends, the experience was made so much more enjoyable by the consistent and continual clearing of glasses (of which there were quite a lot) by the highly efficient barstaff.

Amazing what a difference a small thing like that can make, though maybe the main reason it made me happy was that it prevented any male companions giving in to the childish urge to build empty glass mountains.