27th October 2026
From baked beans to camping stoves, the nation appears to be preparing for the end of civilisation as we know it. But has the Government’s advice encouraged sensible preparation, or accidentally started a panic-buying spree?
There was a time when a well-stocked kitchen cupboard meant a few tins of beans, some soup, perhaps a tin of corned beef at the back that had been there since the last Government. Now, if some of the reports are to be believed, the British public is preparing for a future in which the electricity disappears, the shops close, the cooker stops working and civilisation comes to an abrupt end somewhere between the baked beans and the tuna.
Welcome to Britain’s latest national pastime: emergency shopping.
Camping stoves are apparently in demand, torches are being snapped up, wind-up batteries and emergency lights have acquired a new importance, and tins of food are disappearing into cupboards with all the enthusiasm once reserved for Christmas shopping.
One can almost picture the scene in the supermarket. A pensioner reaches for the last tin of kidney beans, only to discover that somebody else has already bought enough to feed a small Highland village for a month.
The question is whether the Government intended this response, and whether it has thought carefully enough about the consequences of its advice.
Three days of supplies, or three months of beans?
There is nothing unreasonable about encouraging households to be prepared for emergencies. Severe weather, flooding, power cuts, transport disruption and interruptions to deliveries can all happen. Scotland knows this perfectly well. A winter storm can leave rural communities isolated, and a power cut can make an ordinary evening considerably less ordinary.
Keeping some food, drinking water, essential medicines, a torch and batteries at home is sensible housekeeping. It is not evidence of paranoia. Indeed, many households have quietly done this for years without requiring a Government campaign to tell them how to manage a cupboard.
But there is a considerable difference between recommending a modest reserve to cover a short disruption and creating the impression that everyone should rush out immediately to equip themselves for an uncertain catastrophe.
Once people begin to believe that supplies might disappear, the instinct is to buy them before everybody else does. The very act of warning people about shortages can help produce the shortages being feared.
It is a familiar problem. If everyone is told there is plenty of petrol but they should fill their tanks just in case, the queues may soon demonstrate the limitations of the reassurance.
The same applies to food. A recommendation to keep a few extra tins can become, through social media, newspaper headlines and conversations with neighbours, an unofficial instruction to buy a trolley-load before the shelves are emptied.
Three days of supplies can rapidly become three weeks, followed by the discovery that the household has accumulated enough chickpeas to sustain a minor military campaign.
The camping stove revolution
Perhaps the most entertaining part of the story is the apparent enthusiasm for emergency equipment.
A camping stove sounds wonderfully reassuring until its new owner discovers that it requires fuel, safe storage, suitable cookware and a little knowledge of how to use it.
A torch is undoubtedly useful. A wind-up light may be even more useful when batteries run out. But neither is a substitute for understanding what to do during a power cut.
And there is a serious safety point here. Portable camping stoves, barbecues and fuel-burning heaters must not be used indoors unless specifically designed and approved for that purpose. Burning fuel in an enclosed space can cause fatal carbon monoxide poisoning.
It would be an unfortunate outcome if a campaign intended to improve household resilience encouraged people to buy unfamiliar equipment and then use it dangerously.
There is also the question of value for money. Emergency equipment bought in a hurry may be expensive, poor quality or unsuitable for the job. The cheapest wind-up torch in the shop is not necessarily the one that will work when it is needed.
Perhaps the next stage of the national campaign should be a reminder to test the torch before the lights go out.
Has the Government overplayed its hand?
The Government has a legitimate responsibility to help people prepare for foreseeable disruption. It cannot guarantee that every household will always have electricity, water, food and functioning supply chains.
However, communication matters enormously.
If the advice is presented calmly, with a clear explanation of the risks and a practical list of basic supplies, most people can make sensible decisions. If the message is repeated without sufficient context, or appears to suggest that a major emergency is imminent, it risks producing anxiety rather than resilience.
The distinction is important. Advising people to prepare for something that might happen is not the same as saying it is likely to happen tomorrow.
There is also a question of evidence. What specific emergency is the public being asked to prepare for? How likely is it? What is the expected duration of disruption? Are there credible indications that ordinary food supplies or electricity are about to fail, or is this simply sensible general advice for a range of possible events?
Without clear answers, the public can be left to fill in the gaps themselves. And the public, assisted by a healthy dose of internet speculation, can be remarkably imaginative.
A shortage of precise information can produce an abundance of very confident rumours.
That does not mean the Government should remain silent. It means that advice needs to distinguish between established risks, plausible possibilities and remote scenarios.
What about people who cannot afford to stock up?
There is another, less amusing consequence of a sudden rush to buy supplies.
Households with spare money and storage space can stock up relatively easily. Those living from one payday to the next may struggle to buy even a week's extra food, particularly when prices remain high.
People with limited mobility, small homes or no car may also find it difficult to obtain and store additional supplies.
If the result of public advice is that better-off households empty supermarket shelves while people on tight budgets are left with fewer choices, the campaign will have achieved rather less than intended.
The sensible approach is to build a modest reserve gradually, buying an extra tin or packet during ordinary shopping trips rather than making a special expedition to purchase everything at once.
There is no need to spend a week's food budget on equipment for an emergency that may never occur.
A little preparation, and a little perspective
Britain would benefit from being better prepared for disruption. That includes households, local authorities, utilities, supermarkets and the Government itself.
Households can keep basic supplies, make a simple plan, know how to contact family members and check what they would need if electricity or water were interrupted. Rural communities may have particular reasons to plan for severe weather and temporary isolation.
But responsibility cannot be transferred entirely to individuals. Critical infrastructure needs protection, emergency services need resources, and public authorities must have credible plans for maintaining essential services.
Nor should a household cupboard full of tins become a substitute for sound national resilience planning.
The Government should explain the purpose of its advice, identify the risks it is addressing and reassure people where there is no evidence of an immediate threat. It should also discourage unnecessary bulk buying.
After all, the objective is to ensure that households can cope if something goes wrong, not to ensure that something goes wrong in the supermarket first.
There is a final practical consideration. Anyone who has bought enough tuna, beans and soup to survive several weeks might wish to check the use-by dates before buying any more.
Otherwise, the great British emergency may eventually turn out to be a shortage of cupboard space, followed by a national effort to eat several hundred tins of beans before they expire.
Preparation is sensible. Panic is expensive. And if the country really is heading for an emergency, the last thing we need is to discover that everyone has bought a camping stove but nobody remembered the can opener.