CATHEDRAL CITY HQ

Well the folks at Cathedral City have got me pegged.

Reel him in with the special offers, get him hooked on the good stuff. The more the better - get him melting it deliciously onto honeyseed loaf, or settling like a blanket on a beautiful veggie lasagna. Wait till he's raving about how succulently it slices into gorgeous yellow wedges, how it glistens, how it sings as it crackles under the grill, and how mellifluously it slips upon the tongue like a taste of a long-gone summer.

Then, when they've got me where they want me, those Big Cheeses round the shiny table at CCHQ jack up the price. Classic bait and switch! Will he pay £3? Could he stretch to £4? Their eyes sparkle. £4 for 400g of processed cattle effluent?

Oh but the taste!

Excellent, they say, steepling their fingers with delight. Excellent.

Come to think of it, aren't all cities 'cathedral cities'? I mean it's part of the definition isn't it? Sure, the Queen can decide to do what she likes, but traditionally, cities have cathedrals, right?

Also, a quick Google tells me that it's cheese from a place called Davidstow in Cornwall. I've driven through Davidstow - nobody sane would call a collection of large farms, high hedges, and some white painted houses a city, and there was definitely no cathedral! It smelled of manure.

I'd have thought Ely, or Wells, or Canterbury, or even St Davids would have been the archetypal 'Cathedral City' - small, quaint buildings, quietly nestling in the shadow of medieval towers and belfries.

Anyway, I bought it and ate it and it was as delicious as ever and I am a sap who can't go back to Co-Op cheapo grated cheese-mulch, and the bigwigs at Cathedral City HQ (wherever that is) absolutely know it.