Tonight dear readers we mourn the passing of stout bulldog Keith Floyd – a proper chap, who not only spoke the Queen’s English but was also definitely in the Premiership when it came to the conspicuous consumption of alcohol & finest Virginian products. If you don’t believe me simply pop his name into Goggle Images & take a quick shufti at the results. As I said at the top of this paragraph, a proper chap

A quick look at the news wires this evening revealed that the grief junkies had already started the latest celeb-braty sob in & were well on the way to canonizing that Swayze fellow as the latest late Peoples Prancer. However the loss of Floyd to cancer is an altogether more serious affair

His programmes were no so much marked but the excellence of his cookery, more so by the simply prodigious qualities of booze he would consume which normally lead in turn to the pan in question erupting into a blinding sheet of flame, followed swiftly by a tsunami of expletives

As if by coincidence, last night Channel 4 aired a programme on him & it was quite clear that at only 65 years of age, he was in a really bad way. I put it down to the fact that he had really lived a very very full life. Sadly I now read that it was because he was well on the way to losing his battle with cancer

In an age with celebrity chefs ponce across the media, Floyd would have none of it remarking that people that cook should be referred to as cooks & not spend their time worrying about their ingredients carbon footprint

He was equally robust in his opinion of our nearest continental neighbours: "I do like the French, indeed I lived there for a while; however one must never forget that they are cowards!"

As Marco Pierre White, cook who Floyd truly rated commented: "A little piece of Britain died yesterday which will never be replaced."

Keith Floyd, rest in peace