AMONG those dining at our table was one of Britain's richest men, a senior member of the House of Lords and the man who slaughters beasts for the Queen's Sunday roast.

"Bootiful" turkey tycoon Bernard Matthews would normally have been there and TV chef Jamie Oliver had been a guest the week before.

We rose to greet the president, breaking into a slow handclap as he strode into the grand banquet hall to take his seat.

My friend Lee Bell and I followed the next strange ritual with even more perplexed looks.

The chef marched in holding aloft a silver platter on which sat a joint of beef the size of a front-row prop forward. Again the room rose to clap in unison, excited, expectant smiles all round. A hush came upon them when the roast reached Mr President and was held under his nose for inspection.

He milked the moment and then gave a theatrical nod of his head. The joint's sweating bearer wore a relieved smile before striding back to the kitchen to carve.

Portraits of the Royal Family stared down approvingly on the proceedings, but even they acknowledge that in the world of the 1,000-year-old Worshipful Company of Butchers' Guild, meat is king.

It has its princes too and the latest is 29-year-old Lee. His talents at the family's shop in Dringhouses were being recognised in London at the spiritual home of his trade, Butcher's Hall, in the shadow of St Paul's Cathedral.

It was the industry's equivalent to the Oscars, an annual prize-giving ceremony celebrating the work of the UK's training colleges and their best students.

Lee, who was presented with an engraved steak knife, had asked me to accompany him on his big day.

I remembered when he took the decision to leave his office job and learn butchery under the guidance of his dad Ged. There is a shortage of young people wanting to learn the skill. Gruelling ten-hour days and six-day weeks in a pressured, cold environment are not that appealing any more.

The meat and poultry industry itself is also suffering trying times.

Farming crises like the foot and mouth outbreak, health scares associated with meat, coupled with the growth of vegetarianism have taken their toll.

Who knows how much damage bird flu could cause?

For local butchers like Lee and Ged these are major issues. An even bigger threat, however, is posed by the supermarket giants. Thousands of community butchers have closed in the face of superstore competition, with the number of shops halving in the last few decades.

The Bells' 30-year-old business continues to thrive despite a Tesco situated only a few hundred yards away at Askham Bar. How do they do it?

Award-winning pork pies from a secret family recipe play a part, along with their local produce, delivered from free-range farms and abattoirs in places like Nidderdale, Elvington and Thorganby.

But, according to Lee, the personal touch is all important.

"We're a friendly face to a lot of people," he said. "We take their problems on and end up listening as well as serving meat.

"A lot of our customers are close friends now and remain very loyal to the shop. Long live the family butcher."

I did my best to fit in with Lee's brethren among the worshipful company in London - until the arrival of our main course.

Ask any guild member how they like their meat and they will reply "with a pulse". It was literally swimming in blood - the only way to eat it I was assured.

Mindful of the potential embarrassment caused by leaving it, I valiantly chewed through, feeling like a prisoner at a vampire's convention.

One chap on our table recalled Clarissa Dixon-Wright, one of TV's Two Fat Ladies, once telling him: "I like my meat so that a good vet could bring it back to life."

Mmmm. If I go next year I'd ask them to do me a vegetable lasagne.

I bet they wouldn't clap that in.

Updated: 10:55 Friday, March 03, 2006