It’s bad enough that I’m reading a bleak book called ‘The Road’ by Cormack McCarthy, describing a post-apocalyptic scene in which a man and his boy wander, starving through a scorched landscape, evading bands of roving cannibals. A program on the TV tonight reminds me that we’re seconds away from super-volcano catastrophe and the ensuing ‘nuclear’ winter. Then, to add to my sense of gloom and despondency, this week’s New Scientist, cheerfully points out that a pandemic would put us into a doomsday scenario of the collapse of civilisation as we know it. Great! Party time!
So now my head is filled with plans for building concrete bunkers under our back garden. Stashes of tinned food, oil wrapped guns and Ray Mears in a cupboard to help with the tricky business of surviving without supermarkets.