LAST MONTH, AT LUNCH, my sister’s marathon-running boyfriend told me a story about a dead pig falling out the back of a van on a rainy day. He’d been walking through Smithfield Market at the time, heading off to do whatever it is he does, when a large bloke opened the rear door of his wagon and the big flaccid animal flopped into a puddle.
“It was actually quite disgusting,”he reported, pushing his glasses up his
