Herself showed me an article in the Sunday Times yesterday.

The title of the article kind of said it all – “Welcome to my bunker”, by Siobhan Maguire.

Now we all know that a scared society is a good thing.  A scared society is malleable.  A shitless society will obey all orders without question.  Scare the crap out of society and you can do what you like with it.  So this article sets out to remind us of the few things we should be growing ulcers about.  Banking riots.  Japan’s earthquake and nuclear meltdown.  Gangs of thugs running riot in the UK.   And in case you are cynical enough to think that those only happen to other people, she throws in flooding for good measure.  One way or another the article implies that you should be shitting in your britches.

So now that we are suitably convinced that today is our last day on earth, what are we supposed to do about it?

Build a bunker!

I remember back in the Sixties and Seventies when, at the height of the Cold War we were all advised to lean an old door lengthways against a wall and crawl into the resulting improvised tent for a couple of months.  This article was a little more forgiving but then we have become accustomed to a bit of luxury in the last forty to fifty years so apparently we can now have the run of the house.

So how do we turn our house into a bunker?  The article proceeds to tell us.

First of all, apparently we need a container load of tins of baked beans.  Hundreds of the fucking things.  Nay, thousands.  Those who don’t like baked beans are royally fucked.

Next we need to make sure that our bunker is adequately ventilated.  Hah!  I wonder why?  The article seems to overlook the fact that ventilation may not necessarily be a good thing if the outside air is saturated with nuclear fallout.  Mind you, living in close confines with Herself when she is in fine farting form probably is a greater evil than fallout.

We also apparently need a steel door.  I’m not sure where we are to put this.  If the marauding mobs come smashing their way in through the back door, do we politely ask them to knock on the front door as that is the steel one?

Of course we need to board up our windows, but we are advised to leave a little peephole to see what’s going on outside.  I have visions of some poor family living off baked beans behind their steel door and occasionally peeping out at the neighbours having a barbecue, because The Disaster hasn’t happened yet.

One piece of good news is that we can bring the dog into the bunker.  Of course, after a couple of months of living ankle deep in dog shit you may not think this is such a good idea, but then a slice of Alsatian may be a welcome break from baked beans?

Will I be taking any of this advice?

Nah!

If the mutant zombie hoards start marching in our direction, I’ll just send Herself out with the bill-hook.

Much more effective than a steel door.