Fordyce Maxwell: ‘Suddenly no-one can live for a day without whatever’s in short supply’

FEW people seem to have suffered from scurvy or the early stages of starvation in the past ten days, justifying the supermarket shopping frenzy in the countdown to, first, Christmas and then New Year that saw trolleys loaded until wheels squealed, bursts of temper, and gridlock and fury in car parks.

Looking at the population’s efforts to avoid malnutrition over three days we can only wonder what would happen if we ever face genuine food shortage, although we’ve had glimpses of mayhem in the aisles when temporary bread and sugar shortages spilled over into arguments and fights. Mention shortage and suddenly no-one can live for a day without whatever is in short supply.

Shrews have to eat their own bodyweight every 24 hours to survive and, in the darker moments of holding our own in the food shopping crowd, I wondered whether humans are heading that way. Shrews, however, have the justification that they use vast amounts of energy relative to size. How many of us could say that, especially at this time of year?

I know all the arguments – catering for larger numbers than usual, unexpected visitors, possible unexpected shortages when shopping restarts, extras and “treats” that we don’t usually eat. And I admit that much of our shopping was for fruit and vegetables, our wastage rate low and that sensible catering helped the time fly past with presents thoughtful and welcome, television viewing only occasional, exercise taken regularly, board games competitive, but non-confrontational – I had been warned – and a good time had.

But the extravagant scale of national conspicuous consumption – moving on as it did from food and drink to the mania of Boxing Day sales – was dispiriting with, particularly in Scotland, the alcoholic lunacy of Hogmanay and its frequently gruesome aftermath to follow.

We’re in trouble when I agree with the woolly Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, about anything, but he made some valid points in his seasonal message about social responsibility and overspending and living a better life.

Joseph Brotherton, not the first or last, tried something similar 160 years or so ago when he said, in the hope of convincing others to give it a try: “My riches consist not in the extent of my possessions, but in the fewness of my wants.”

It has never caught on. A vegetarian, tee-total, non-conformist businessman and politician who fought for better factory working conditions and universal education and believed alcohol was the source of all social evil, Brotherton would be as welcome at the average Hogmanay party, handbag sale or supermarket aisle as Billy Connolly’s legendary flatulence in a space suit.

But as we move into the uncertainty of yet another new year, fewness of wants might be a resolution worth trying.