My dangerous flirtation with veganism

I have a confession to make to Spectator readers. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s time to come clean (no, I haven’t become a Labour voter – the Tories have been bad, but not that bad).

I’ve been experimenting with using meat and dairy substitutes. Hear me out. I’m not proud of what I’ve done. As a right-of-centre comic, indulging in anti-woke sentiment, eating animal products is a badge of honour – the unspoken custom of our movement. Ceasing to do so is the kind of thing which could raise alarm within the ranks, like a bite on the neck in a zombie film.

My main motivation for this possible lifestyle change is that my tour shows start at 7:30pm and I am 45. If I eat a big meat-based meal before the show I’m going to need a sleep. If I wait to eat until after the show, my audience are going to get a hungry comedian, which means two things: I’ll deal with hecklers more harshly and the show will be significantly shorter.