We’re almost becoming used to living in disasters. We’ve (nearly… almost… possibly) survived covid, we’re on the brink of war with Russia (the first tank to extend its turret anywhere near Estonia, Poland, Lithuania…), the petrol required to get to the Fat Duck now costs more than the meal you eat when you get there, because the electric car you ordered last November won’t be ready til May, sorry, make that July, oh, no, now its September… probably, and although no-one is heating their homes today, by January half the nation will be bankrupt for doing it then. And bathing their children in frigid rivers.

But today I learned of the ultimate of disasters, about to descend on a vulnerable, limping world. Hummus-gate!!!

There is a world shortage of chick peas. Which is a shame because half the third world uses them as a staple. But this isn’t about them. This is about ME. And hummus. Which is made of chick peas. Which, sod’s bloody law, come from… Russia. Who, in a normal year, would export 250,000 tons of them but not this year. I would approach the Prime Minister to make chick peas an exception to the sanctions, but we don’t have a Prime Minister currently. And I’m not sure my hummus supply (quarter of a pot, Waitrose Reduced Fat) will last til September. Nor would those unfeeling tossers vying for the top job give Hummus a consideration when there’s so many, non-edible, alternative issues to consider. Important ones. Like how trans people choose to identify. That’s much more important than feeding half the starving world!!

There’s felafel to consider too, you know, more chick peas. There’s more to life than just hummus. It’s just that hummus is so much more important than almost everything else. Including peace in Ukraine and which dirty no-good low-life occupies 10 Downing Street. This is something worth fighting for!

Happy Tuesday

A xxxx