Hey Charlie, come to the chocolate factory — and win a bumper supply of salmonella.
It seems incredible that Cadbury sat on news for months that a strain of the poisonous bacterium had slipped into its chocolates — which even at the best of times are never going to win prizes for healthy eating.
But iffy ethics are exactly what we now expect from blue chip companies. Just in the past few days we have learnt of water utilities drowning in profits while simultaneously flooding our streets with gushing pipes and parching our sweet peas with hosepipe bans.
Meanwhile, Tesco flogs “organic” garlic riddled with more chemicals than Kate Moss on a big night out. This follows news that supermarkets are pushing weak councils to sign guarantees that will deny sites to their rivals.
Oh, and BA execs could crash land in jail over alleged price fixing — even before crime busters have investigated the scandal that is BA’s “all day deli counter”.
There is no argument now that capitalism won and socialism lost; rightly. But even those who cheer the march of free markets choke on this cocky capitalism. Companies may not, at heart, care about ethics, but they are wise to pretend. Just as they learnt to court the pink pound, sharp businesses now chase the principled pound. BP execs are not tree huggers, but they realise an increasing number of their punters are. So they invest heavily in alternative energy.
It is in the interest of water utilities to cut prices: don’t they realise Gordon Brown is just twitching to introduce a hefty leak tax? Likewise, supermarkets should be careful about bulldozing your local high street or the growing band of clever, ethical, consumers will turn against them, rendering their brand toxic.
Above all, when they slip up, they should own up and fix it. Perrier was uneasy about a few bottles so it insisted on recalling every one. It cost millions, but its integrity actually lifted sales.
How unlike Cadbury, alas. Fears the confectioner was, if not confecting answers, then at least being a little tricksy, were aroused by its spokesman. He said the salmonella chocs presented no risk, “so” were being withdrawn as a “precaution”. If there is no risk, why the precaution? If there is even the slightest risk, it is clearly rather more than a “precaution”.
Companies can’t howl for the government to get off their backs if we can’t trust what they put in our stomachs. Its the ethics, stoopid.
- Ecuadorians, who even England should beat in the World Cup today, consider roast guinea pig a delicacy. Of course the country is poor, but can’t they eat charred rat burgers like normal footie fans? Still, it is best to humour Third World footballing nations or they can grow a tad chippy. Take Scotland. This column has received scores of e-mails from angry haggis munchers after it complained about Scottish fans not backing England. “It’s only a game,” ran one. “Does it matter? Making a fuss is racist.” Hmm.
Last week a boy of seven was punched in the head and sworn at by a grown man. He was terrified. Then a disabled man was dragged from a car and savagely beaten. Their crimes? Supporting England in Scotland.
When the boy’s father, Damon Clapshaw — who, by the way, is a New Zealander, married to a Scot — remonstrated with his son’s attacker, the thug punched him to the ground, screaming: “This is Scotland.” Clapshaw says of his assailant: “He was all hatred.”
Jack McConnell, Scotland’s first minister, distanced himself from the violence as swiftly as he earlier rallied to the anti-Anglo banner. He should apologise for whipping up nationalist fervour, before we see any more terrifying outbreaks of Scottish multiculturalism.
Prince with a tainted nobility
They must be spluttering over their breakfast Tupperware in Europe’s royal palaces: Italy’s top prince is in jail, accused of corruption and pimping.
Prince Vittorio Emanuele would probably be king of Italy today but for a little misunderstanding about a previous royal backing Mussolini. Princes, for sure, have a long and mutually satisfying relationship with pimps. Few, however, have actually been one.
That great work of Italian literature, The Leopard, captures the noble countenance of an Italian prince, but without a throne Vittorio has struggled to project much nobility: he helped deal in arms for the Shah of Iran and was arrested before finally being acquitted for the fatal shooting of a German tourist. He has called Sardinians “pieces of s***”. Oh, and he suggested Mussolini’s treatment of Jews was “not that terrible”.
Is there a warning for our royals? Like being an ex of Rod Stewart, being an ex-royal makes you a member of a huge club — just not a particularly classy one.
Feuding church forgets its message
Why do churchmen get so steamed up about what goes on below the waist? A woman is to become head of the American branch of Anglicanism, which infuriates African Christians.
The appointment of Katharine Jefferts Schori follows African outrage over the American Episcopal Church appointing a gay bishop. In Canterbury, Archbishop Rowan Williams is praying for a miracle: an outbreak of agreement. But the Anglican Church is now so broad the roof is caving in; there will be a second coming before a deal is struck. So Williams must say where he really stands, ie, with the modernisers.
After the church let in women priests only those devoted to Latin scripture will fathom why bishops can’t wear skirts. If Williams fails to act, those he must reach will view the church as irrelevant, hooked on arcane rows. It should be spreading the Christian message.
In case it has forgotten it, that message is love and tolerance.
Orangemen want to turn their Ulster parades into carnivals. As rebranding exercises go, this would be up there with the Wags transforming themselves into Sisters of the Blessed Virgin.
What is more alarming: the prospect of sour old men stomping about in bowlers, attempting to show their attachment to a Britain that died half a century ago; or the Rev Ian Paisley in his tea cosy, smoking a spliff and getting on down with a WPC shaking her coconuts at “Stonemont” Castle?
As a token of reconciliation, the IRA might even sponsor a float for Catholic beauty queens with Gerry Adams banging on the bongos for a Bob Marley-like No Weapon, No Cry. Later, nice Martin McGuinness could judge the best-dressed terrorist competition.
