Is it possible to put a value on the head of an innocent rat?
According to an Australian judge, it is. That figure is 3,000 Aussie dollars – about £1,600 in pound sterling.
The rodent world is, understandably, up in arms.
The issue came about when contestants on I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here – Hollyoaks actor Stuart Manning and eventual winner, chef Gino D’Acampo – were stuck in isolation by the show’s producers and, given barely anything to eat, decided to boost their protein intake by killing and skinning a rat, then nibbling like dogs on its carcass.
Though the culprits were initially charged themselves, in court it was uncovered that the pair had been given permission to kill the rat by producers – making the spontaneous blood-letting look a little less impromptu than the final edit made it appear.
ITV said:
“The production was unaware that killing a rat could be an offence, criminal or otherwise, in New South Wales, and accepts that further enquiries should have been made,” he said.
“This was an oversight, and we have since thoroughly reviewed our procedures, and are putting in place a comprehensive training programme to ensure that this does not happen in future series.”
Let’s hope ITV aren’t planning a rebirth of Wind In The Willows any time soon, as it could get a little grizzly.
*end of football comment*
42 Comments
Eating insects while they’re still alive is OK, though.
Anyway, isn’t making the public watch this shit a kind of cruelty, hmmmm
?!
I see what you did there, Electro!
Are you kidding?! I’d give anything to have the opportunity to be skinned and eaten by the likes of Stuart Manning and eventual winner chef Gino D’Acampo! If anything the rat should be fined for being ungrateful!
Peter Andre for Prime-minister!
Morning, you arseholes!
A bit of a mystery this morning. Either the missus or I got up in the middle of the night and ate a slice of raw bacon covered in butter. We know this because there was the butter open on the dining table and a slice of bacon’s missing.
Woooo …
Whoever it was may have cooked the bacon and then cleaned up afterwards, Napoleon. That would be slightly less weird… but it would also implicate the missus as it would have involved.. ahem…. cleaning.
Would a bacon-eating sleepwalker go to the trouble of cooking the bacon and then cleaning up the pan? Surely they’d do a sloppy job of it, wouldn’t they?
I wouldn’t want to imply anything about your missus, Nappers. Perhaps she sleep-cleans?
Does one of you have butter and bits of bacon all down your front?
One word for you Naps.
“Otters.”
*taps side of nose*
There’s no bacon or butter on either of us. Surely you’d know if you’d eaten some bacon in the middle of the night?
Unless it was otters.
They are shifty buggers, those Otters.
Ghost Otters?
‘Surely you’d know if you’d eaten some bacon in the middle of the night?’
Not if it were covered in some delicious butter…
Ghost otters?
Your missus believes this does she?
Good morning world it’s a brand new day!
When did people start worrying about rats?
Ghost Otters. You know, the ghosts of dead otters.
There’s more to this world than meets the eye, Napoleon, especially when it come to Otters. They are devious little shits.
What do you mean by that, Nick? I ain’t in the habit of getting up in the middle of the night to feast on raw meat, so she’s just as much in the frame as I am.
You cheeky, elderly BASTARD.
So do you count the number of rashers of bacon before you go to bed, and then when you get up, Naps, or was there just one left in the packet.
I confess I probably wouldn’t notice if a piece of bacon went missing from my fridge – but that’s because we have a bacon mountain.
From the packet, Jamie? You think I buy reedy, wafer-thin rashers of pre-packed, overpriced, supermarket bacon? Up yours!
No. I bought eight rashers of butcher’s bacon from the butcher for a forthcoming Full English, and now there’s seven rashers. That means somebody (the missus) is getting a meagre three rashers in their Full English, and that means it’s a Part English (no beans).
I’m sure.
The ghost otters is a far more plausible explanation..
Did you count the rashers when you bought them, Naps? Maybe the butcher only cut 7 by mistake. I know it’s a long shot and not as likely as ghost otters, but it’s worth considering at least. Don’t be rash about this – see, rash/rasher ha ha ha ha ha.
The bacon was ‘got at’, Jamie. I saw the butcher count out eight rashers and seal ‘em up in a wee bag. This morning the bag was torn open and one rasher was gone.
This is a bit like a murder mystery, only with a rasher of bacon as the victim. So far, Watson, we have three suspects:
Me (unlikely)
The missus (likely)
An otter (a long shot)
Is she pregnant, Naps? That would go some way to explaining the weird late-night craving for bacon with butter on it.
Just askin’.
Pregnant, Fourstar? Do you think I’m writing this from Mexico? Under an assumed name?
Of course she’s not bloody pregnant!
Raw bacon = tapeworm. I pity whoever nabbed it, for their gut is now a hive of parasitic bastards.
I see His Royal Highness King Michael I, The King Of Chavs is on his arse financially. Anyone fancy recording a charity single so we can put His Majesty back where he belongs – wrecking houses in Norfolk, buying vast quantities of gold and drugs and fucking whores?
That’s a thought, Fourstar – she did eat some raw chips the other day too – I’ve heard about them odd cravings.
I don’t want arseworms after eating bacon by accident.
My cat’s got worms, the blighters crawl out of his bumhole and land up on the sofa when you least expect it.
The worst of it is we’re paying for those bastards to eat as well as the damn cat himself.
There’s a very easy solution to your problem, Grogee. Have you a canal near you?
“I find it easier to live off £42 dole than a million.”
Really?
Better than that Naps – we live near the sea. But I daren’t risk a drowning, what with what happened to ITV following ‘rat-gate’.
Someone in the office just said ‘Sugatits’.
I think I’d find the opposite to be the case, Mr. Green. Living off of £42 (the pack of SCROUNGERS, etc.) sounds like a pain in the arse, ’specially as everything in Brown’s Broken Britain© costs a bloody fortune. I bet you can’t even afford a Fray Bentos pie on the dole these days.
Grogee – That’s a point. Couldn’t the cat meet with – ahem – ‘an accident’. They’re awfully fond of anti-freeze, don’t y’know …?
I was on the dole for a bit. Then I got a job. Why doesn’t he get a job?
Oh yer, that’s right, because he’s a TREMENDOUS BELCHING ANUS who no-one in their RIGHT MIND would ever employ!
I say give him to Stuart Manning and eventual winner chef Gino D’Acampo. They’ll see he gets what’s coming to him.
I suggest he gets a job with Barclays or some such….
I disagree that His Majesty is unemployable, Mr. Green. There are several industries where knuckle-dragging, bovine imbeciles thrive. Door security, site security, city centre security, VIP security …
*hand with bacon sandwich stops halfway to mouth*
Wow, did I ever pick the wrong moment to come in today.
Was it a full moon yesterday Napoleon? Maybe you or your missus are fastidious and tiny werewolfs. Werewolves.
Toy shop security?
*ducks*
Well that’s thrown a spanner in the works, JRME. This mystery gets more mysterious by the minute.
And as for your toy shop slight, Mr. Green, I agree wholeheartedly. I wasn’t employed for my brain power. I was paid to rough up six year olds and intimidate toddlers.
To be honest, Nappers, I do think you need a modicum of intelligence to be a security guard. I reckon a good job for him would something like ‘door-stop’ or ‘draft-excluder’.
A modicum of intelligence? What, this …?
Man steal thing.
Me stop man.
Or this …?
Man try get in club.
Me stop man.
Heh, we took the kids to the Natural History Museum this weekend. Obviously, they have a couple of tables just inside the doorway where they search bags and the like. A burly security guy rushed up, clearly a little late for work, and said breathlessly “Right then, what are we all up to?” to which the very dry reply came “Stand there. Look in bag. Smile.”
Made my day.