No treasure at the Golden Arches: Mr Foodie provides his own view of the fast food world ...

I have long defended the fast food industry against its many critics. Whether it be the distorted statistics flowing out of the health lobby, or the unfair slurs on the intelligence of staff working in the fast food giants, or the written assaults from obscure American professors--I have stood

I admit that nobody is perfect but did I complain through this magazine when one chain served me cool fries? I did not. These things happen and the lukewarm offerings can't have been that bad otherwise I wouldn't have eaten them.

Did I put pen to paper when another chain was unable to serve their delicious ice creams? No, because there was a big sign on the door warning me that the ice cream equipment was kaput.

Did I howl with outrage when it took such a long time for me to get served that it made a mockery of the word "Express" in the outlet's name? No, I did not. I appreciated that the restaurant was filled to the gunnels with customers, and, despite the wait, the food was excellent. But I'm sorry: this time McDonald's has gone too far.

Regular readers will know that burger outlets are not my favourite. I prefer fish and chips but my three year old son is quite a fan of both Burger King and McDonald's. Therefore every so often, at his request, we visit one or the other. Normally his desire is prompted by the latest range of toys being handed out free with the children's meals. And so it was that, after seeing an advertisement on the television earlier in the day, we set off for McDonald's.

Now, I had never heard of Ben (he's a robot from the latest Disney offering, Treasure Planet). Thanks to McDonald's, I not only have heard of him but wish I hadn't. I also wish I had never heard of McDonald's.

We arrived at the said restaurant, bought our choice of food and opened up the Happy Meal bag. I took out the food and my son produced a pair of Ben's legs.

"Where's the rest of him?" asked my son. I explained that the arms, head and body would come free with other meals. And I promised that, next week, we would come back and buy another Happy Meal with the next bit of Ben in it.

Dutifully, seven days later, we returned and acquired Ben's head. This thrilled my son until he got it home. "It won't fit onto his legs," he protested. I explained that legs don't normally attach to heads. We would return to McDonald's next week to get Ben's body or arms. I suspected it would be the latter thus leaving us with several parts of Ben and no body.

Week three: off to McDonald's again. And which bit of Ben did we get this time? A bouncing Pinocchio. Yes, you read that right. A bouncing Pinocchio. McDonald's had finished the Ben promotion and moved on to the next. I know that McDonald's may protest that there were huge pictures of Pinocchio, Jimminy Cricket et al on the restaurant windows. But how do you explain to a small child that you are taking him to McDonald's and then, when arriving at the door of the restaurant, deciding to go elsewhere?

So, there we were: me and my extremely disappointed three year-old son ... and a bouncy Pinocchio. "Where's Ben's body or arms?" he asked. This time I couldn't explain. We had come to McDonald's for the third week in a row in order to collect some bit or other of Ben. We had spumed Burger King, KFC and the pizza places. And we had only half of a toy and a very disgruntled little boy.

The next morning he seemed to have forgotten the disappointment. Partly due to a good night's sleep; partly down to my creativity with an old box that was turned into a robotic body to which Ben's legs and head were attached. Then I opened the new box of Shreddies. "Look, Daddy!" cried an excited voice. "Ben!" There, on the cereal box, was the robot and other characters from Treasure Planet. For Shreddies were, like McDonald's a week earlier, joining up with Disney's promotion for the film. "It's Ben," said my son. "But he's got a proper body and he's got arms as well."

This scenario has been repeated at every breakfast since. At the weekend, I raised the matter with a group of mothers and fathers loitering in a garden while our offspring played pass the parcel and other such pastimes at a small friend's fourth birthday party.

It seems that my son is not the only one with an incomplete Ben. In fact, no-one had managed to collect all four parts. Only one child had managed to get the body--but lacked the arms and head--though he did have two pairs of legs. Every child had at least one set of legs. Some had three, and two pairs seemed to be the average. And, between the four of our offspring, we could manage to put together only one complete robot.

It crossed my mind that I might donate a head and someone else a set of arms. But my son is quite attached to his Ben's head. Which is more than his Ben's head is to anything.

It is heartening that councillors in the Western Isles of Scotland care about the health of chip eaters but I think they have shot themselves in the foot by publicly asking for tests on island-grown potatoes for traces of radioactivity.

Very low levels of radiation have been found in the past in seaweed around the islands with the finger of suspicion being pointed at the Sellafield reprocessing plant in Cumbria. And seaweed is sometimes used as fertiliser on potato farms.

I checked with my friends at the British Potato Council who said it is only speculation at the moment and that there is no evidence of radioactivity in the island spuds. They also point out that all potatoes grown on the Western Isles are consumed locally.

And while the islands' councillors may be playing it safe by getting the Scottish Environmental Protection Agency to look into the matter, perhaps they should have done it on the quiet. For, even when the potatoes are given a clean bill of health by the investigators, it won't stop the French from slapping a total ban on the import of British spuds. If you don't believe me, ask a beef farmer.