SHORTLY after writing this, I will be surveying the supermarket aisles, contemplating one of the biggest questions of our times: are After Dinner Mints essential? News that English police were considering scrutinising people’s groceries as a way of keeping us in line has certainly concentrated the mind. Gone is the worry of encroaching on somebody’s personal space and watching them recoil, to be replaced by an existential consumer problem that might have foxed Sartre himself.

Last week’s shopping list included items for friends who are keeping themselves below radar. Top of it was a bottle of whisky, which entailed waiting for the cordon to be lifted from the alcohol shelves at ten o’clock sharp. In my tweed coat and Alice-band I probably embody the profile of a rural alcoholic. Trying not to look desperate or furtive only made it worse.

Whisky isn’t my tipple, but among my first thoughts ahead of the lockdown was to ensure we had enough wine to see us through. The problem, of course, is how to define enough. Judging by the spike in wine deliveries across the UK in March, many were equally eager to lay down a cellar – or in our case a boiler cupboard – for the troublesome times ahead. During the stampede, an Edinburgh friend reported that it wasn’t toilet roll she was having difficulty sourcing but tonic water, as the capital prepared to self-isolate with gin.

Can alcohol be classed as necessary? Not by any medical standard of nutritional value. Yet for those living with ever-rising levels of anxiety, you could make a case that, as an aid to relaxing, and in creating a semblance or chimera of normality, it is as vital as vitamin C.

It probably goes without saying that one person’s essential is another’s treat. Income plays some part in what we consider crucial to keep body and soul together. Yet beyond the basic and inarguable provisions for making decent meals and keeping the household clean, where exactly is the line that distinguishes justifiable consumption from self-indulgence? And who is in a position to judge one from the other? On a scale of one to 10, for instance, how do ice-cream or pimento-stuffed olives score? Are beef burgers or pizzas the wisest way to eat, or could a police officer confiscate these and insist we replace them with broccoli and wild salmon?

Most worrying of all, for me at least, is whether we should be abstaining from olive oil, the ingredient without which no dinner in our house is considered complete, and replacing it with a local equivalent, thereby avoiding air miles, and supporting our own economy? If so, what would that stand-in be – dripping or lard?

While the police thankfully did a U-turn on its threat to put our shopping under surveillance, it will have made some of us considerably more self-conscious as we feed our goods onto the conveyor belt. I never normally give it a thought, but now I’ll be worrying what antisocial habits my trolley reveals.

Doubtless the contents of most baskets would not cause an officer to pause for a nanosecond, unless they included a box of party invitations and enough barbecue coals to fuel a power station. But now the issue has been raised, it makes you re-evaluate every purchase.

After rummaging through my wardrobe, I can probably get through to the end of the year without buying anything else other than plimsolls. By December I might be looking a little shabby, but that’s hardly news. And, since mending and making do is enjoying a comeback, others will presumably be in much the same state.

If nothing else, this enforced stasis offers the space to reflect on how often what we buy is surplus to requirement. Compost bins and landfill must be groaning under the weight of food whose sell by date, like one of Douglas Adams’s deadlines, whooshed by ages ago. Last week a neighbour discovered self-raising flour among her long-lost ingredients at the back of the cupboard and, after checking for weevils, enjoyed a baking spree with some equally ancient dried yeast. Going through his chest of drawers, my husband came upon a lovely unworn jumper of mine that is at least a decade old, but looks brand new. That I hadn’t noticed its absence speaks for itself.

What previously felt like must-haves now simply suggest a reflex. The act of repeatedly reaching out and purchasing says more about a magpie urge to acquire than any critical shortage. This is not a puritanical call to give up the worldly or frivolous or, when the good times return, to eschew the pleasures of things that, strictly speaking, we could get by without. Tens of thousands of businesses, artists and companies would be bankrupted if we adopted an ascetic lifestyle that pared everything to the bone. In fact, when finally we unlock, we will actively need to help cash-strapped outfits and individuals get back on their feet.

As Europe takes its initial tentative steps towards easing restrictions, the notion of what is indispensable to daily existence moves beyond the hypothetical to something more profound. In some parts of Italy, bookshops, stationers and stores selling children’s and baby clothes are now being allowed to open, under strict conditions. In Austria, meanwhile, garden centres and hardware shops are back in business.

These highly specific priorities are revealing of each nation’s personality. And while some would refute the idea that books or plants are anything other than accessories, I’d go to the barricades to defend both as central to survival. After sustenance and medication, we need a reason to exist beyond merely ticking over. The proliferation of good bookshops in Italy shows its reverence for literature, a cultural bias that is confirmed by this decision. Perhaps the authorities recognise that, while enforced incarceration is likely to continue for some time, people must be allowed to feed their minds and imaginations as well as their stomachs.

The same goes for gardening, which is a universal expression of the desire to nurture and grow. Such is the over-abundance of stock in garden centres and nurseries right now, getting the tills ringing makes economic sense as well as offering a glimmer of light at the end of the polytunnel.

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