My kingdom for a horse lasagne

Tales From The Water Cooler

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The Independent Online

This week scientists made two important discoveries: one welcomed by those with an interest in history, the other greeted with dismay by those with little interest in eating horse. I speak of the bones found lurking under layers of soil in Leicester, which were confirmed to be those of King Richard III.

Then there was the revelation that some meat lurking under layers of pasta in Findus frozen lasagne may at one time have come last in the Cheltenham Gold Cup. However, I shan't dwell too much on the lasagne story, as I would only be tempted to use some cheap equine puns. Anyway, a food scare as serious as this behooves me to act responsibly.

As regards the skeleton, at what point does someone's grave become diggable? I watched the movie Poltergeist the other day, in which a family must face all the forces of Hell because their house had been built on a cemetery.

While I'm not suggesting that removing the skeleton of Richard III – catchphrase "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" – is going to open a portal to the other side and deliver our world into terror, can it be a coincidence that, in the week we disturb his grave, the very animal he craved starts showing up in our frozen foods? I'm no spiritualist, but I reckon next time we find some old bones, we should leave them be. Who knows what horror we could be avoiding? At the very least, I would like to be sure that the next fish finger I place in my mouth is all fish and no finger.