A while ago, The Knife pointed out just how prophetic and pertinent Dickens’ Great Expectations was about aspects of modern life.
Here he goes again, given tonight’s ongoing news about horse meat etc etc
Supper was comfortably served and hot, . . . and consisted of a roast fowl, a steak, and some vegetables, to all of which I did ample justice, and which were all excellent. But my aunt had her own ideas concerning London provision, and ate but little.
‘I suppose this unfortunate fowl was born and brought up in a cellar,’ said my aunt, ‘and never took the air except on a hackney coach-stand. I hope the steak may be beef, but I don’t believe it. Nothing’s genuine in the place, in my opinion, but the dirt.’
‘Don’t you think the fowl may have come out of the country, aunt?’ I hinted.
‘Certainly not,’ returned my aunt. ‘It would be no pleasure to a London tradesman to sell anything which was what he pretended it was.’
That was David Copperfield, 163 years ago.