SO Robin Cook thinks Chicken Tikka Masala is our national dish... OK then, So what would you say it is - good old fish and chips? Well, yes maybe. But only because Walter Raleigh went off to America and brought back a sackful of spuds. The Americans hadn't quite mastered burgers back then, but they were probably working on them. ("Fries to go, Walt. Big Macs'll be ready in 300 years or so.")

As for the roast beef of Old England - dream on. What chance do you think the peasants had of eating that once a year, let alone once a week?

For generations, most of Britain probably survived, just, on a diet of barley broth, oatcakes, peas and a bit of fat bacon. And maybe a few pigeons and blackbirds when they could get them.

Frankly, I'd rather have the chicken tikka.

But it's funny how defensive we get about our national food. French farmers last year barricaded Macdonald's. The Italians have just started a campaign to eat more pasta, instead of curries, burgers and sushi. Meanwhile, anyone under 50 eats out of a menu that's pretty much a global pick and mix.

The irony is that Chicken Tikka Masala was entirely invented in England. We also took baked beans and eat them for breakfast - which totally confuses Americans. On the other hand, they often serve toast with their burgers, so what do they know? Apart from cheese and herring, the Dutch national cookery is Indonesian. And the Italian peasant food, polenta, is now seriously fashionable in top London restaurants.

We are what we eat. For thousands of years, that was pretty much what grew in our own back yards. But increasingly now we eat across class, culture and racial divides, which is probably very good news, even if we do it in a very idiosyncratic way.

At this rate, our national dish will soon be Sushi and Chips in a Tortilla Wrap.

Odd, perhaps - but certainly a lot more interesting than barley broth.

WE are getting more intelligent. The British IQ has risen by 27 points since 1942. Added to that is the news that GCSE and A Level results are improving all the time, every year seeing better results than the one before.

Do you believe it? No, neither do I. For if we' re all so clever now, why, whenever you ring a bank/building society/public utility or insurance company, do you invariably get some dim youngster who hasn't a clue?

PRINCE Girolamo Strozzi - in whose palatial Tuscan villa Tony Blair and his family have stayed for free for the last three years - has said there's no question of the Blairs buying their own holiday home - because they haven't got the money.

Excuse me? Cherie is said to earn £250,000 a year and Tony, though not in her class, gets a fair whack above the average wage.

Then, of course, there's all the money they've saved over the years by getting free holidays from rich foreigners.

BOSSES! Today is Secretaries' Day. Have you sent your secretary a card? Bought her some chocs, flowers, booked a table for a meal? The trouble is that all too often, these are the sorts of things that secretaries do on their bosses' behalf. Today bosses will have to do it all on their own. So secretaries, you could try heavy hints, discreet coughs, or leave this page prominently on your boss's desk.

Or you could just use your initiative, treat yourself to lunch - and put it down on your boss's expenses.

CONGRATULATIONS! You have won £150,000 in cash! Or maybe not... The latest piece of junk mail to drop through readers' letterboxes offers an interesting array of prizes, including television, washing machine, fridge freezer and that £150,000 in cash. It also offers an unlimited supply of gold neck chains as everyone's a winner.

The mail shot comes from abroad and tells you nothing about the company involved - or how many thousands of other people all over Europe are competing for the £150,000, the single computer, washing machine or microwave. It addresses you by name, in enthusiastic capitals too. So it was JOAN OF Hurworth, near Darlington who sent us her letter.

The snag? Well, to find out which prize you have won and where to apply for it, you have to ring a premium rate phone line. Calls cost £1 a minute and you'll have to hang on for nine and a half minutes before getting the information you need. So every call is going to make the company at least £9.50

To add insult to injury, you have to send a stamped addressed envelope when you make your claim.

An envelope? Somehow, I don't think you'll be winning the washing machine.

MORAL OF THIS STORY

(1) Read the small print.

(2) There's no such thing as a free lunch. Or even a free gold necklace.

(3) If you want a cheap gold chain, Argos sell them for just over a tenner.

(4) If something sounds too good to be true, then it usually is - especially when it's from a foreign company that doesn't even tell you who they are.

Published: 25/04/01