If we had to fight a war on the home front I’m fairly sure we would be stuffed. I base this claim on what happens if you try to buy a sandwich at ten past three in Surrey.
You walk into a small shop in a nice village. You select a sandwich from the chiller cabinet — egg mayonnaise — and put it down on the counter along with a Diet Coke. You get out your money and look at the lady behind the counter as you wait for her to announce the amount you owe, but instead of taking your money the lady says:
‘Sorry, kitchen’s closed.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Kitchen closed at 3 p.m. Sorry. We’re not doing food.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I don’t want you to make me anything. I’ll just have this sandwich here.’
And at that point, the lady picks up the sandwich and puts it on the other side of the counter, where you can’t reach it.
‘Where are you taking that?’ you say.
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