Prepping is decidedly uneasy, in the sense that contemplating an infinite variety of appalling futures is gnawingly toxic for the soul A radiation detector, a hazmat suit, a gas mask, plastic sheeting and tape to seal draughty windows, and a jar of potassium iodide (which Chernobyl viewers will recognise as the inexpensive difference between life and death in nuclear scenarios).
Such were my first, tentative purchases as a ‘doomsday prepper’. It was 2001, following the 9/11 attacks, when everyone thought Islamist terrorists might attack Western capitals with anthrax or radioactive dirty bombs.
That particular Armageddon has, thankfully, not arrived – and I was recently horrified to find the gas mask and hazmat suit had disappeared
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