It is beef with a buzz, but will it butter any parsnips?

WHO fancies a steak made from bees? I'll leave you to ponder that bombshell opening sentence, while admitting that it twists the truth slightly.

Do not be alarmed. Truth is pliable, bending round up to 359 degrees before mutating into a proper porkie.

Thus, whenever Westminster threatens President Eck with a withdrawal of funds, this is reported as: "Eck picks another fight with Westminster." True, there's a fight. True, it involves one Eck and one Westminster. But the picking? It's like saying: "Europe picked a fight with Attila the Hun yesterday, after the barbarian leader invaded the controversial continent."

I digress but the digression is useful, as Attila the H brings me to signs of the collapse of civilisation. To wit, fuel shortages and price rises. This is getting scary. I've a pleasantly apocalyptic mind and just have to queue for five minutes at a garage before I'm envisaging the demise of John Lewis and Markies, twin pillars whose fall will signal the end of our world.

However, let me say this, please: the fuel strike is, on balance, a good thing, as it gives the rest of society an opportunity to castigate the minority involved, cursing them for the inconvenience and declaring them a menace. This is good for social solidarity and continues the excellent work begun with the crushing of Spartacus. But the rise in food prices? You say: "Even you, Roberto, could hardly put an optimistic gloss on that one." Of course I can. It's one way to tackle the obesity crisis. Fight crisis with crisis. You object: "But I'm not a blob. Why should I suffer just so the lardbuckets can lose a few tonnes?" Good point, elegantly put.

But the discipline imposed by high prices might benefit us all. I shop far too much at the supermarket. Unable to plan far ahead, I go every two days. Inessentials are rarely included, and alcohol accounts for only 62.67 per cent of the massive bills. At other times, it's true, one goes forth for a tub of margarine and comes home with a picnic table and matching sunhat. Soon, however, we might find ourselves nipping out for a picnic table and coming back with a tub of margarine, as the latter will be the more luxurious buy.

The price of comestibles has risen by six times the rate of inflation. At top people's store Asda, the price of parsnips has gone up 79 per cent. If you wish to butter these, you pay 62.1 per cent more than a year ago. As a result of such hikes, even bourgeois people have taken to shopping at cheap stores like Lidl, often under cover of darkness.

You say: "I'm still reeling from your bombshell opening sentence, even if it was a porkie. What did you mean by bees and steak?" Simple: the decline in bees could make food bills rise even higher. Follow me closely here, as it gets complicated. Basically, the bees pollinate the flowers, which have something to do with animals, which we eat, and there you have it.

A spokesman for the Ayrshire Marxist-Leninist Beekeepers' Association said every third mouthful of food could be linked to bee pollination. Controversially, he added: "If there are no bees, there will be no steak."

But is that a bad thing? Burger King, the stylish restaurant, is charging £85 for Kobe beef, reputedly made tender by pampering coos with beer and bovine massage. Poor, deluded creatures. They must think: "Gosh, these humans are remarkably kind." How Jehovah the Merciless laughs, as they're led to the slaughterhouse.

But even this gory horror may soon be a thing of the past, as animal rights campaigners offer $1 million to any scientist who can grow meat in a laboratory. This shouldn't take much effort, and the resultant beef is bound to be cheaper than Kobe. You see, it all works out for the best, in the best of all possible worlds. I'm so happy.

Robert McNeil: Angels? No, he's loving aliens instead
ROBBIE Williams, the ululating popster, is turning his mind to good works. To wit, he's looking for signs of alien life.

Incredibly, I rather like Robbie Williams. Not the music. I know nothing about that (being a philistine, like). However, once, I watched a travel programme presented by a pleasant young lad. I said to the Burd: "What an amiable young fellow. He should go far." And the Burd said: "He already has. That's Robbie Williams, you berk."

Recently, Robbie attended a conference about folk abducted by aliens. You say: "I've been abducted by aliens loads of times. What's the big deal? They just poke you with probes, give you some Cup-a-Gloop, then return you to your house or garden." Excellent point. But it fails to mention that Robbie has also started talking about the world ending in 2012, which suits me, as I'll still have 18 years on my mortgage. Robbie says alien spacecraft are in the air all the time, and we only see them when their protective shields fall off, say when they're cleaning their windows or something.

However, there are signs Robbie is already getting fed up with unexplained phenomena. In a forthcoming Radio 4 programme, he says: "You come across people that make you go: 'Oh no, you're supposed to be the expert, but you're obviously mental'." This is a shame. But you find nutters in all walks of life. Leading politicians and businessmen feature heavily in the United Nations' secret Nutters Index, which remains unpublished to this day. Besides, the poor chap is as well looking to the skies for intelligent life because, as the Monty Python song has it, there's b***** all down here on Earth.

Cash rich but nae class
FOREIGNERS don't do wealth well, generally acting in a crass and shallow manner. Even when they spare some dosh for good causes, they make sure everyone knows it. Now, a Russian chap, who made his fortune buying former state industries for next to nada, is to start a magazine called Snob. The dictionary defines a snob as: "a person who has an exaggerated respect for high social position or wealth". But Andrew Shmarov says his meaning is more about self-made men who've "gained a right to snobbish