BY NOW, everyone will understand that all good things in Britain stem from a small area of North London, roughly between Islington and Hamgate, the home of the chattering classes. The media tell us so every day.

Time was when the way we Brits lived was decided on the grouse moors or, later on, in smoke filled rooms at the TUC conference. There, the landed gentry or the trade union moguls pondered on things like the economy (and usually made a right hash of it).

Now, the ruling classes live in North London, in houses whose value appreciates at £1,000 a week and more, and because of this apparent success, they have decided that the economy, defence, foreign affairs et al are not enough to keep them chattering.

So they are now telling us what to wear and - the ultimate intrusion - what we should eat.

Now I am all in favour of healthy food: at Curmudgeon Corner, we thrive on homegrown vegetables (when the rabbits haven't got them, that is) and fruit. We buy local meat for the freezer and know where it comes from.

A few months ago, a lady Government minister tried to tell young girls what to wear and even asked fashion magazines to stop using pictures of beanpole models who, she said, were encouraging anorexia amongst young girls. The major health problem today is fat young girls and boys who live on junk food and never get any exercise.

But the most condescending gesture by the Hamgate set was to decide that the food in NHS hospitals was not healthy enough and called in the aptly named Lloyd Grossman to jazz up the menu.

With the help of other top London chefs, Grossman, who appears on various shows for the BBC (British Broadcasting of Cookery), came up with a whole raft of politically correct food such as couscous, mung beans, daal tadka and cucumber yoghurt.

They went on trial six months ago and were supposed to spearhead a £50 million revamp of NHS catering.

That trial is now over and, marvellously, is has been a total disaster. For the simple reason that sick people, many of whom are perforce elderly, don't want fancy food. They want "comfort food."

The wastage of the new dishes proved to be even higher than under the old menus and, when patients were asked what they wanted, they said ... cottage pie followed by sponge pudding and custard!

Now I am no dietician and, thankfully, have spent little time in hospital. But when feeling poorly, I tend to fancy the sort of food my mum used to serve me when I was a lad down with the mumps or measles.

They were easy to swallow, full of vitamins and not too much protein, for these were the war years when, during strict food rationing, we Brits were the healthiest we have ever been, before or since.

I have no doubt that, round Hamgate dining tables, everyone will be sniffing and saying snide things about these "ungrateful people - have no taste whatsoever, darling."

In the meantime Mr Grossman and his mates have been ordered back to the drawing board and told to think up ways of spicing up ... shepherds' pud or roast beef and Yorkshires.

What pompous, condescending, we know best, conceit! Well cooked, these are great classics which have served this country proud for centuries - when well cooked and served hot. Give our hospitals the staff and the equipment to do that and they will continue to do so. But that, of course, might cost money...

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.