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Telegraph
31 minutes ago
- General
- Telegraph
‘Jeremy Clarkson is telling people the truth about abattoirs – I applaud him'
Slaughterman David Partridge can't answer when I ask what his abattoir smells like. 'I can't smell anything,' he explains, suggesting, slightly irritably, that once I get in there, I should tell him. He gives short shrift. He started hosing blood and skinning carcasses aged nine, working here in his teens. The business was first opened by his grandfather Frederick in 1880, then run by his father Charles, although older generations ran another abattoir with a butcher's shop on the nearby high street. So the smell to him is simply undetectable; it's the air he has always breathed, it's part of him – and he doesn't have much patience with newcomers who don't understand that. I've asked because smell is what you brace for, perhaps more than the sight of carcasses, when you walk through the plastic strip curtains into the closed world of a slaughterhouse for the first time. Partridge, 72, has allowed The Telegraph to visit his, adjoining his farm in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire, on a Thursday morning about half an hour after the killing of a 300kg ('dead weight') 18-month-old bullock, and an hour after the killing of eight lambs, which now all sway on hooks, their heads and organs removed. Yet the odour is not the metallic tang of flesh and blood I had expected. It is something more earthy, a faintly warm, manure-like smell of animal. Partridge seems happy that I'm surprised. He is a prickly man, but proud; pride is broadcast unspoken by the crisp, short-sleeved shirt and blue and yellow striped tie under his blue overalls, and his neatly combed grey curls. He brings out photographs of his ancestors, including grandfather Frederick at his gas lamp-lit butcher's shop in the late 19th century. 'It was taken to show off,' Partridge chuckles. 'Look at the fat,' he says, pointing excitedly to the bounty of carcasses. Partridge, whose own son, Andrew, 48, with his dad's blue eyes and quick smile, now runs their butcher's shop, Partridge CE & Son, down the road, nods that he feels the hefty legacy of all this sepia. The expectation to uphold 'the reputation we have always had for good quality'. Now it is at risk of being lost forever. Despite continuing to toil from 6am to 6pm as his dad did, as his grandfather did, at risk of regular injury – he has broken his ribs twice when livestock kicked out – Partridge is continually in his overdraft, assailed by a storm of rising costs. These shoot from all directions: rising utility bills and official Food Standards Agency (FSA) vet and inspector fees; bureaucracy; and chancellor Rachel Reeves' national insurance employer contribution and minimum wage hikes. These come on top of the discontinuation of a small abattoir fund introduced by the last government for capital grants, and an FSA discount scheme for vets' fees for small abattoirs hanging in the balance. A reluctant young workforce also adds to the difficulties; the average age of a slaughterman (slaughterwomen do seem rare) is in the 60s. This is by no means Partridge's individual battle. He's actually a survivor, one of fewer and fewer small abattoirs in Britain (classified as processing under 5,000 animals annually). It has been reported that the number of small abattoirs in England fell from 64 in 2019 to just 49 in 2023, with five closing in 2024. A 2022 FSA report claimed small abattoirs closing at the rate of 10 per cent per year – set to vanish completely by 2030. Partridge says there used to be seven local to him – now he's alone. It took Jeremy Clarkson to bring the issue to public attention in the latest series of Clarkson's Farm. His own local abattoir, Long Compton in Shipston-On-Stour, Warwickshire, just 13 miles from his farm, has closed. This leaves him to travel further to get his livestock slaughtered at greater cost and stress to the animals. He has been forced to liftshare to make it viable. Once there, large abattoirs do not usually accept rare breeds. 'The legislation from the Government makes it virtually impossible to run an abattoir,' a flummoxed Clarkson complained. Partridge is uncharacteristically exuberant when it comes to Clarkson. 'Jeremy is telling people what the truth is and I'm all for it,' he says. ' Countryfile just talks about silly birds… [but] people listen to Jeremy, I applaud him. He tells it as it is.' Another of Clarkson's neighbours, first generation farmer John Weaver, 38, now travels 40 miles to use Partridge's abattoir after the closure of Long Compton. Partridge says some 200 farmers come to him now from as far afield as Ludlow, and he averages the slaughter of 60 to 70 animals a week. Weaver, who has diversified to sell direct from his farm shop, lobbied a collection of local shareholders – including, he says, a vegetarian – to save Long Compton (to no avail, the owner sold elsewhere). He is now exploring further fundraising to try and build a new one. Clarkson came to his first meeting. 'Jeremy's concerns were the same as everyone else, of welfare and viability,' he says. 'He was one of us in the room… it's adding masses of food miles on to his production. 'Everyone is being pushed further away, where is that going to stop? If we don't do something now it will be too late.' He's eloquent, but you can hear the panic. 'You stack up time, mileage, fuel, the margins selling meat directly from your farm are shrinking considerably,' he says. 'We are trying to do anything to secure ourselves, we would have to rethink big style (if the farm shop closed).' David Bean of The Countryside Alliance is equally passionate. He explains that for farmers, selling meat locally is 'one of the ways they're adapting to a harsh business environment to survive'. He says: 'Every time a small abattoir closes, local farmers have to travel further to bring their animals to slaughter and the provenance of their products frays a little more. Many of us are rightly enthusiastic about buying local… but abattoirs are essential to our ability to do that.' Weaver's hope to 'buck the trend' is admirable, but he says his group badly needs the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA) to support them financially. 'They have acknowledged there is an issue and they are willing to assist but they haven't got any funding. It is essential [they offer support],' he says. DEFRA declined to comment specifically. It did acknowledge the closure of the small abattoir fund last September but gave no reason, only agreeing: 'small abattoirs provide a competitive route to market for producers of rare and native breeds and we're committed to working with the meat processing sector in tackling the challenges they face', while reiterating a £5 billion investment in the farming sector. David Barton, the livestock board chairman of the National Farmers Union (NFU) is clear. 'It is important DEFRA recognises their role in the rural economy and ensures the right support and investment is available. As a start, we'd like to see a review into the way official controls are applied, as well as maintaining the discount scheme for regulatory checks for small and medium sized abattoirs.' Back at his abattoir, Partridge badly needs the help. His electricity bill is around £1,200 a month. The fridges are vast, you can feel the cold through the 12ft slate-grey door. Water, of which he uses some 140,000 litres a month (largely to hose down), is £500 to £600 a month. The cost of disposing of waste – such as carcass heads – is around £200 a week. He says they have all risen. Fees for FSA vets and meat hygiene inspectors (who must be present for killings) have increased too, by nearly 18 per cent for vets and over 11 per cent for inspectors. Small abattoirs are charged the same as large operations. 'It costs £600 for four days,' says Partridge. He points out a silent man in a white coat in the slaughterhouse inspecting the carcasses in the hanging room under the deafening whirr of the chillers. 'He's checking the kidneys for infection,' says Partridge, as the vet stamps them. The FSA doesn't shy from these upped costs. Dr James Cooper, the deputy director of Food Policy says: 'While we understand concerns about rising charges, the reality of global vet shortages and wider pressures being felt across the economy mean these checks now cost more to carry out.' Nonetheless, after a meeting in June, FSA chair Susan Jebb acknowledged both that 'smaller businesses face a disproportionately greater cost of regulation' and noted 'the importance of the discount [scheme] to their viability'. She added that the board would 'develop proposals for a potential new scheme' but that the decision would ultimately rest with the government. Partridge has had to install eight CCTV cameras at the cost of around £4,000. But the employer national insurance hike was the final nail. 'To save money we no longer trade in the abattoir or shop on Mondays,' he says. Do they make a profit? He grunts. 'Barely,' he says. 'What saves us is we own the property. If we rented we wouldn't be here.' Whatever your views on the reality of a slaughterhouse's work, it is sad to think of this historic business falling silent. Partridge and his team are passionate about what they do. They work intently in the chill, surrounded by metal pulleys and hooks silently butchering hanging carcasses which gleam under the strip lights. There is a kind of reverence around the vast swaying bullock as it is heaved from the slaughter hall where beasts are shot after being stunned, and lambs and pigs are electrocuted. The butcher's shop, 'carnivore diet' sign outside, is teeming with produce, all meat from the farm with no mileage; marbled, ruby red cuts, plump sausages, homemade pies. Andrew mixes faggots in the kitchen. This could all be at risk if the abattoir closes. They would need to source their meat elsewhere as there isn't an abattoir near enough to travel to. 'And people come to us for quality,' says Partridge. You can tell he's thinking about that black and white photograph. Perhaps his most moving words are spoken about his livestock. 'I really care about my animals,' he explains. 'We don't love them,' he corrects me, 'we respect them.' The animal rights protesters who have shown up at the farm might not agree. Yet he is adamant the animals should not travel long distances for slaughter. 'The stress levels are not good for them,' he says. He grapples to find the words for the business which has been his life. 'I just want to keep it going,' he says. 'I don't want it to finish.'
Times
2 hours ago
- Business
- Times
A century of board games and sustainability with Kate Gibson
Running a company can be all fun and games when you're in the business of jigsaw puzzles and Sherlock Holmes board games. For Kate Gibson, managing director of Gibsons Games, this blend of heritage, creativity and entertainment makes leading the London-based games company a unique and fulfilling experience. 'We're lucky we do something that is fun,' Gibson said. 'There's nothing like being involved in the start of a puzzle or a game. What's it going to be like? What's the packaging going to be like? And actually seeing that on the shelf, it's a really incredible feeling.' Gibsons Games was founded in 1919 by Harry Percy Gibson, her great-grandfather, and has remained a family-run business for more than a century. The company recorded almost £6 million in sales in 2024 and recently expanded into the US market, where it launched jigsaw puzzles in Barnes & Noble, the US bookshop company.
Daily Telegraph
11 hours ago
- Politics
- Daily Telegraph
Meet our NSW farming blue bloods
Don't miss out on the headlines from NSW. Followed categories will be added to My News. They are our salt of the earth, like so many before them - multi-generational farmers continuing the family tradition of working on the land. It's in their blood, but it takes true grit to keep their livelihoods afloat and agriculture a strong cornerstone of the national economy, with challenges around every corner. The Saturday Telegraph sat down with five farming families across NSW to hear their challenges and concerns, the pride they take in acting as custodians of the land, and why, man or woman, there's nothing else they'd rather do to make a living, with the soils of this state in their very DNA. TONGUE FAMILY Their connection to the Tamworth region stretches back almost 150 years. Kevin Tongue, 76, and the family patriarch, is New England pastoral royalty. Proud of his ancestry – his great grandfather came to the district in the late 1800s – he also shows no signs of slowing down. 'No intention of retiring mate, not while I can still do things here,' Kevin says from a sprawling property where with adult sons Paul and Ben, they run beef, prime lambs and pigs, grow barley, lucerne and canola, and operate a grain haulage business via a half dozen semi-trailers housed on the farm. The Tongue family marking lambs in the late 1950s on their property outside Tamworth. Picture: Supplied 'All I want to do is benefit the boys and our family, and the agricultural community around us, because there will be a time when I won't be able to do that. 'That's the aim of the exercise mate. To keep improving the country, so we can increase the production of food and fibre for generations to come. I want to leave this farming country we own and work in better condition than when we got it.' Tongue backs words with actions. He speaks regularly to National Party Senator Barnaby Joyce, who was born in Tamworth, and to the local State MP Kevin Anderson, to keep farmers' issues on their radars. 'That's important to me,' he said. 'We've got to advocate to all parts of government for the benefit of agriculture. It's a huge money making venture for the country and the state. Look at what we produce and export and what comes back to State and Federal governments. Three generations of the Tongue family on their NSW property. Picture: Rohan Kelly 'We've got to keep pushing too, because during the last federal election there was not a word come out from the Labor government about agriculture. That really concerns me. 'We've got these city centric representatives down there in Canberra and Sydney who don't really know too much about agriculture, and that's frightening.' His hot topic at present is energy. 'We've got a challenge at the moment with this renewable energy push,' Mr Tongue added. 'Putting these solar factories and wind farms on prime agricultural land, they're taking away from us that ability to produce food. And it's not going to be the ants' pants to our energy needs. I've spoken with environment Ministers and they don't seem to get it. 'But you get the sense the bureaucrats are running the show and telling them what to do. The Ministers virtually have no bloody control.' Tongue and wife Janelle, their two sons and seven grandchildren, live in three houses spread across five adjoining properties the family have aggregated some 25km out of Tamworth. Ken, George and Nelson Tongue with the wool clip leaving their farm more than half a century ago. Picture: Supplied They own another property 4km 'up the road'. A total landholding of almost 2000 hectares. A third son, 44-year-old Alan, left the farm when he was 17 to pursue a rugby league career in Canberra, and still lives in the nation's capital. Alan played 220 games for the Raiders and was Dally M Lock and Captain of the Year in 2008. Two years earlier he had on display the work ethic that characterises his dad – Alan set an NRL record of 1087 tackles in a season. MURRAY FAMILY Martin Murray just wants a 'fair go' for young farmers. For those on the land to have access to the same life-shaping opportunities currently reserved for their city cousins. 'Stamp duty exemptions,' says the Chair of the NSW Young Farmer Council. 'With most people, their first farm is also their first home. But you only escape stamp duty if you're inheriting the family property. If you're buying an outside farm, it doesn't apply. 'We're only asking for the same concessions as first home buyers receive. Our farms are more than our businesses. Inverell farmer Martin Murray with his wife Rachel, their son John, 5, and daughter Evie, 2. Picture: Supplied 'They're also our places of residence. Farms are more than an asset, they can be linked to people's identities. We should be helping people to buy them.' Mr Murray, who has just sold his 340-hectare mixed cropping farm at Inverell to focus on cattle, is married to Rachel. The couple have a son John, 5, and daughter Evie, 2. A fourth generational farmer, he is keen to see more young families enter the world of agriculture, but says it won't happen unless incentives make it more affordable. 'Couples buying these farms will have kids going to local schools, they'll be supporting the community from small businesses to footy clubs and everything in between,' Mr Murray said. 'Making their first farm more attainable will certainly help make that happen.' Mr Murray grew up in a farming family with its roots running deep in the rich soil of Griffith in the NSW Riverina. A property near Inverell in NSW. His great grandfather purchased land initially as part of a soldier settlement scheme. Post World War II, his grandfather bought a neighbouring property. 'My father and his brother got a place of their own in the late 1980s,' Mr Murray added. 'Dad has bought and sold farms since and we bought here in 2020.' After five years, with properties on his borders being snapped up by corporate interests and killing prospects of expansion, Mr Murray is changing tack. He is swapping crops for live beasts. 'We've always had a few cattle on the side of the cropping operations and my wife ran a cattle stud before she met me. I brought her over to the dark side of diesel and machinery,' he laughed. 'For me there was always this immense satisfaction in watching a crop grow. It's hard to describe and articulate. Just knowing you've managed it, managed the systems, and been able to make it happen. 'Then you're out at night sitting in your tractor, seeing all the headlights flickering in the distance and knowing everyone's out there doing the same thing as you are. It's hard to put into words. 'I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't farming.' SHOKER FAMILY The agricultural sector is a victim of its own evolution, according to a farmer based in banana heartland at Coffs Harbour. Paul Shoker, whose family's farming history goes back to the Punjab region of India, says: 'Technology and equipment advancements mean we've got less people growing more food – the problem is that gives us far fewer votes. 'So when it comes to governments, they take us for granted. When you need policy changes or assistance, we're just not their priority. 'Evidence of that is the slow support for the farmers affected by the recent floods on the NSW north coast.' Coffs Harbour banana grower Paul Shoker. Picture: Nathan Edwards Based 2km west of the Big Banana, Shoker works 25 hectares of bananas and avocadoes. Back in the 1970s, he says, there were 1000 banana growers between the Clarence and Macleay Rivers in northern NSW. 'Nowadays there are probably 15 to 18,' he said. 'And in the 1980s, around 50 per cent of Australian bananas came out of NSW. These days NSW produces about 3 per cent of the market, with 95 per cent from Queensland. 'Basically they had access to cheaper land, had lesser regulatory burdens and they don't have the winters we have. It really helped grow their industry up north.' But Shoker is determined to keep embracing tradition. 'We've had three to four major floods since Covid and over the years a lot of older producers might have said 'that will do us' and be forced off the land,' he said. 'I'm 37, that's not an option, but regardless of the challenges I just want to grow bananas and feed people. The attraction for me is that we can make a real difference to people's lives. The Big Banana in Coffs Harbour. Picture: Getty Images 'There's something really rewarding in knowing that something you're growing is a healthy product, that we look after the environment, and we're leaving behind a good legacy.' Shoker's parents bought an 8 hectare section of the farm in 1991, with the family expanding the landholding with a 2008 purchase after Paul graduated from university. A business degree, with majors in accounting and finance, lead the father of four children under the age of six to approach farming from an efficiency perspective. 'We saw the need to diversify,' he added. 'So we harvest all year round with avocadoes making up for the lesser demand and production of bananas over winter. 'The unique thing about bananas is that they're a wholly domestic market. All the bananas grown in Australia are also consumed here. It's pretty special.' CHESWORTH FAMILY When a millennial drought threatened their business, opportunity emerged from adversity on the Chesworth dairy farm near Dubbo. Industry tradition had rarely been challenged. Dawn and dusk milking, twice a day, cups on, cows were happy, job done. But in 2007 as grazing grasses continued to wilt and hand feeding was needed to keep the herd nourished, Erika and Steven Chesworth brainstormed ways to reverse declining profits. 'We started milking three times a day,' said Erika. 'Cows are like women. The more you take, the more they make. Erika and Steven Chesworth on their dairy farm in Rawsonville, near Dubbo. Picture: Clancy Paine 'So we were actually able to increase production by about 18 per cent in that first year. 'The cost input was a little more electricity to run the dairy and a few more kilograms of grain a day. But not only did we save our business we were able to turn things around really quickly. 'You get more out of your investment milking your cows more often. Back in the day mum and dad milked just morning and night. It's just what the industry did. 'But we needed to try something fast and it worked.' According to Erika, it makes for more contented cows. Given the couple are both sixth generation dairy farmers, her opinion is based on experience. 'We know more about them now in terms of feeding, nutrition, and we know it actually improves their health when they're getting milked more regularly,' she said. The Chesworths have 1000 milking cows on 970 hectares after moving to Dubbo from the Hunter Valley more than 20 years ago. Steven Chesworth, Erika Chesworth, Campbell Chesworth, Emma Elliot and Grace Duncan at Little Big Dairy. Picture: Clancy Paine They produce 11 million litres of milk a year, with half of it processed for their own line Little Big Dairy – created in 2012 – and the rest distributed to a major Australian dairy retailer. 'We control the Little Big Dairy product from start to finish, from milking through to processing and into the bottle,' said Erika. 'It is single source milk and each of our cows are tagged, so we can trace their health and their production, it's a really intimate process. 'One of the lovely things about the dairy industry is that we have lots of contact with the animals. 'Our large herd of Holsteins were born and raised on our farm. Each of them has a name. We know them all by sight.' Steven and Erika can trace their family trees back to the 19th Century, to farm holdings in the UK. 'We're pretty tragic – because it's all dairy heritage,' Erika says. 'But Steven and I feel privileged to be able to help feed the nation. We take that really seriously.' It's also a tradition set to continue. Two of the Chesworths adult children, Emma and Campbell, work in the business while a third, Duncan, has bought his own dairy farm in Victoria. BRIGHENTI-BARNARD FAMILY Jo Brighenti-Barnard is a warrior for the citrus industry. As NSW Farmers' Horticulture Committee chair, she frequently agitates on behalf of growers, waging battle with governments and major supermarkets. Earlier this year as inflation numbers started to drop, Brighenti-Barnard demanded to know why fruit and vegetable prices had been going the other way. 'Data shows that consumers are still paying through the nose to put food on the table while most farmers aren't receiving any greater returns for what they're growing,' she told media. 'Without price transparency, the major supermarkets are still likely to … extract huge profits from farmers and families alike.' The defiance is driven by her love for the land and the fruit her family has been growing just outside Griffith in the Murrumbidgee Irrigation Area, since her great-grandfather planted the first trees in 1913. Together with her parents, husband Philip, and brother Bart, Ms Brighenti-Barnard works a 450 hectares landholding that delivers an annual citrus production – primarily naval and juicing oranges – of around 5000 tonnes. Eighty per cent is exported to South-East Asia and the USA. 'I've grown up on the farms we're still running and there's a real feeling of pride in doing what we do,' the mother of three says. 'I laugh and tell friends that most of us can't keep pot plants alive, but I'll give credit to my brother, he manages to keep all these trees alive and in good health through heatwaves and floods. 'It's in your DNA, there's a real intuition you develop. It comes from experiencing it season after season, building on that every year as you put a little more of the pieces together. 'I do love it…especially this time of year where all the fruit is fully coloured and on the trees. 'You go out there and just see this sea of bright orange and gold amongst this forest of green … and you see the bins full of fruit … it gives you a real sense of achievement.' But off the farm there is also work to do as the committee chair warrior persona returns. 'Availability of irrigation water has been reduced, productivity levels are going backwards because our prices have been squeezed as costs rise, and levels of debt are an issue,' Ms Brighenti-Barnard added. 'We need governments to listen.' Do you have a story for The Daily Telegraph? Message 0481 056 618 or email tips@
New York Times
18 hours ago
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Three Restaurants Where Grandma Is (Almost) Always Cooking
My grandmothers were all wonderful women who I adored, but none of them cooks. While I'm slightly relieved to have escaped the trope of the food writer who learned to cook at her grandmother's elbow, I've never been at a restaurant and said, wistfully, 'this tastes like my grandmother's ____.' So, here's yet another reason to love New York: You can borrow someone else's grandma! At least, for the duration of a meal. La Morada in Mott Haven is a lot of things: a family business, a center for political activism and a downright perfect place to eat mole under the watchful eye of someone else's grandmother. Natalia Mendez and her husband, Antonio Saavedra, opened the restaurant in 2009, and the moles are swoon-worthy. The three I tried: mole negro, deeply savory with warmth from pasilla, a perfect hot tub for braised chicken drumsticks; brick-red mole Oaxaqueño with enough bits of pepper to sink your teeth into; and mole blanco, a rich, pale blanket of pine nut- and cashew-based sauce. A few grandma-core touches complete the experience — terracotta share plates are delivered warm, and a colorful container of motley markers and paper wait in the corner of the restaurant. 308 Willis Avenue (East 140th Street) The two women folding and frying dumplings to order at Fried Dumpling in Chinatown move so deftly, I'm confident they could handle a 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. shift in their sleep. At the small shop on the one-block-long Mosco Street, they're all business, chatting to each other while churning out magnificent, savory pork-and-chive dumplings that need nothing, maybe save for a squirt of chile oil from a bottle on the room's singular table. For $5 (cash only!), you can walk into Columbus Park with 13 of these dumplings and, for another dollar, a pint container of warm, fresh soy milk. 106 Mosco Street (Mulberry Street) Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Daily Mail
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
EXCLUSIVE Living the cream? Matt Hancock, 46, dons VERY youthful outfit as he parties on the beach at invite-only Cannes bash
Former health secretary Matt Hancock looked almost unrecognisable as he sported an incredibly youthful look while partying on the beach in Cannes last night. The 46-year-old cut a lean figure with a notably short buzz cut as he swapped the Parliamentary suits and ties for an Ibiza-style all-white linen shirt and cream chinos ensemble during Cannes Lions festival. Finishing off his bohemian look with a pair of white Veja trainers, the trendy middle class shoes which retail at £125, Mr Hancock was seen dancing away with a drink in his hand at one of the exclusive invite-only evening bashes on the beach. MailOnline understands Mr Hancock was representing his family business at the global creative festival and was more than happy to speak about Covid and politics with people he met. 'He was clearly enjoying himself and was friendly and chatty with everyone who went over to him', said a bystander. 'He was happy to chat about Covid and politics and was proud to be in Cannes representing the family business.' Mr Hancock, who became the face of the pandemic when he preached Covid regulations from behind a podium, was forced to quit as Health Secretary in June 2021 following revelations he had broken his own social distancing rules. He was caught in a steamy kiss with his aide Gina Colangelo inside the Department of Health's London HQ on May 6 2021, despite being married to his wife Martha and it being lockdown. Mr Hancock had been sitting as an independent MP since November 2022, when he suddenly announced he would be appearing as a contestant on I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here. After coming third on the show, he then became the unlikely centre of a TikTok sensation, amassing more than 215k followers with his cringeworthy videos - including one where he mimed along to Ryan Gosling's ballad 'I'm Just Ken' from the Barbie film. His youthful vibe continued in Cannes this week as he was spotted in an all-white outfit during one of the evening bashes on the beach. He has been attending Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity - considered the largest gathering of the advertising and creative communications industry. Mr Hancock owns shares in Topwood Ltd, a waste disposal company owned by his sister and other family members. The former health secretary came under fire when he declared the shares in the family business which was approved as a potential supplier for NHS trusts in England. Mr Hancock declared his ownership in the Commons register of MPs' interests in April 2021 - and a government spokesman insisted there was no conflict of interest and that he had acted 'entirely properly'. However, he was accused of 'cronyism at the heart of government' by then Labour shadow health secretary Jonathan Ashworth. Mr Hancock declared that he received a 'gift' of 15 per cent of the issued share capital of Topwood Ltd, which specialises in the secure storage, shredding and scanning of documents, under a 'delegated management arrangement'. Since stepping down as an MP, he has also been appointed the managing director of Border Business Systems (BBS), the UK's leading address data experts and also set up a TV firm. Shortly after his success on I'm A Celeb, Mr Hancock set up Greenhazel Ltd in January 2023, but it emerged in April that is has remained dormant ever since. As a dormant company, it has just £1 to its name and no revenue, profit or transactions. Mr Hancock also appeared on on Channel 4's Celebrity SAS: Who Dares Wins in 2023. He said at the time he had plans to make serious documentaries, on topics including dyslexia and assisted dying. But former politician was recently slammed by Labour MP Richard Burgon, who accused him of 'disgraceful' behaviour and of 'chasing celebrity money'.
