Confessions of a 'coronavirus prepper'
Face masks, travel restrictions and uncertainty... coronavirus paranoia isn't fading. Angela Buttolph has taken matters into her own hands
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/life/confessions-coronavirus-prepper/
Earlier this week, I came out on social media. My name’s Angela and I am a Coronavirus food prepper.
I’d been carefully keeping this a deep, dark, super-embarrassing secret. I thought I was the only one gripped by paranoia, surrounded as I was by people repeating the mantra “flu kills more people each year!”. But then my friend Mel boldly admitted on Facebook “I’ve given in to my primal urge to stock up in case of a Coronavirus outbreak.” Oh, the relief! Finally, an ally!
And so I confessed all; I’d had 150 tins of food delivered a fortnight ago. Others piled onto the thread, sharing their own dirty secrets; about finding the best paper masks (apparently FFP3 are the gold standard) tracking down industrial strength anti-bac hand gel (fast selling out).
My deep, dark secret is finally out... I'm a coronavirus prepper Credit: John Nguyen /JNVisuals
“I’ve bought a litre of hand sanitiser and stocked up on lentils” another reported; “Our food delivery driver this week had just delivered £900 worth of food to one house who said they were not going to leave the house for a few weeks,” posted another. Once I started asking around it was everywhere - from husbands returning home with the car boot piled high with booze and frozen food to friends “getting a few extra bits, just in case”.
I can’t take credit for my foresight. Weeks ago, my father, a scientist, told me matter-of-factly “it’s time to start putting away some supplies, in case you need to isolate yourself, and deliveries are stopped”. I laughed, but he pointed out that as I have severe asthma, I’m an at-risk group – as are my parents, now in their late 70s.
Still, I shrugged it off. But the very next day, the ‘super-spreader’ was revealed to be a parent at a Brighton primary school and, as the mother of a primary school aged child, my blood ran cold. If Brighton, why not here in leafy St Albans? Now my dad’s words seemed prescient, not paranoid: I had visions of empty supermarket shelves, looting of stores and fighting in the aisles.
Italians are already facing empty shelves... how long until this hits Britain? Credit: Flavio Lo Scalzo /Reuters
Following a semi-hysterical call to my husband, I logged onto Tesco.com, but after some wild-eyed scrolling I realised I didn’t really know what I was looking for [note to online supermarkets; launch those food prepper packages now]. Our freezer is miniscule, just three drawers, and besides, I didn’t like the idea of relying on an appliance in an emergency. No, it would have to be tins, and if I was going down that route, I might as well follow this project to its ultimate conclusion: googling “apocalypse food prep UK”.
I arrived at ukpreppersguide.co.uk and found a post entitled ‘Basic Food Storage for Prepping for Disasters And SHTF’. SHTF being s--- hits the fan; I decided a Coronavirus outbreak would definitely qualify. The post told me how much to buy for a month for a family of four. Okay, so Coronavirus usually only requires a fortnight’s isolation, but once you start imagining the end of the world, you get reeeally cautious.
My brain was beginning to buzz with the imagined urgency of my task. Supposing other people were also doing this right now and the tins would be all sold out by the time I ordered? Supposing deliveries were suspended?
Focus, focus: I flicked back to my Tesco tab and perused the options, ooh, Sweet and Sour Chicken could certainly cheer things up during a month of dreary isolation. But when I reread the food preppers blog, I realised I was making a rookie error - its list of basic rations was just that: tins of plain meat which, for two parents and a child, could be one meal. A can of Sweet and Sour chicken, half sauce and vegetables, would only serve one. I got down to basics: tinned chicken (eww), ham, tuna. How did I get here? We pretty much just eat fresh fish and freshly-made vegetarian food these days. Although a small part of me was quite excited to try that 1970s primary school lunch favourite, corned beef.
Let’s face it, this isolation malarkey is not going to be glamourous or fun. We might actually not want to survive by the end of it – quarantine with a bored six-year-old will be gruelling enough without grim food. The methane alone from all the cans of beans and pulses (essential protein) might finish us off.
In the end if took three hours to order 150 cans. If you think a weekly shop is faffy, now imagine you’re prepping for Armaggedon for a month in unknown, tinned-food territory. The bright side is at least it’s cheap - necessary, given I ordered:
45 cans of meat, 25 cans of fruit, 50 cans of vegetables... check, check, check Credit: JNVisuals /John Nguyen
I didn’t feel like I was over-reacting. Until the Tesco delivery man rang the bell the next day, entirely concealed behind a six-foot-high stack of crates. I had briefly thought about the fact that Tesco no longer offer bags with deliveries as I merrily racked up the items in my online shopping basket, but nothing prepared me for the vast volume of food that was about to invade my tiny home. Each crate I emptied into the hallway was an avalanche. Tesco delivery man, ungallantly standing watching me scrabbling around, asked “so what’s all this about then? You stocking up a bit?”
Red-faced, I mumbled “yes, that kind of thing”. He wasn’t convinced: “are you having a party? Going on holiday?.... Is it for Brexit?” he finally hit upon, which felt somehow in the right ball park, but that fear obsession is so last year. I was far too mortified to admit what I was doing. I realised I looked completely mad. I might as well have told him I was stocking up for a zombie apocalypse.
My husband arrived home during the can tsunami, gawped in alarm, but wisely remained schtum. There was food everywhere. I stacked half the cans in the bottom shelf of the food cupboard and the rest in the cupboard under the stairs, and tried to forget about them. The only other person I could face telling was my best friend, who suggested stashing it all in the shed. “Yes, but there’s no lock, and the neighbours can see it and I don’t have a rifle yet” I half-joked.
Because, for all my contentment at having done something, I realised the whole project smacks of ‘I’m alright, Jack’. Sure, I’d taken care of my family, but what if a neighbour knocked on the door to ask for a can of beans? I still don’t know how it would all work.
Meanwhile, the great thing about a hobby like food prepping is you’re never finished. I’m still picking up the odd carton of UHT milk, and now that I’ve achieved the level of Basic Food Prepper (fist pump), I’m onto working on luxuries; coffee pods, chocolate, wine, some frozen avocados…maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
So, what should be on the list?
Food and drink
Buy rice and porridge in smaller bags, so if any split or go bad it’s only a small quantity that’s spoiled. Avoid products bulked out with sauces - and get extra tin openers. Should the threat of contaminated water arise, a filtered bottle could come in handy.
The 400l Lifesaver bottle has a filtration level of 0.0015 Microns, which allows you to use water from natural sources such as ponds, lakes and rivers, while protecting you from waterborne viruses and bacteria. £95, Emergency Food Storage
Gear
There is debate among medical professionals over how effective face masks are in stopping the spread of coronavirus. However, the demand for them is so great that many retailers are completely sold out. FFP2 grade face masks meet the guidance from the World Health Organisation (WHO). £19.99 ukmeds.co.uk
From ration packs to a foil blanket, a 48-hour emergency pack is worth the £233.64 for serious preppers. preppersshop.co.uk
Full body suits have also been selling out fast in retailers across the UK. Amazon is stocking Dedicated Chemical Protective Clothing for £29.70, amazon.co.uk
If Coronavirus prep is giving you a headache, the Ultimate Medical Kit from NOMAD contains paracetamol, ibuprofen, six sachets of rehydration solution and a small sterile injection kit, alongside all the usual first aid material such as bandages and plasters. £50, nomadtravel.co.uk
I needed 175 items for a next-day delivery (no time to waste) Credit: John Nguyen/JNVisuals
Face masks, travel restrictions and uncertainty... coronavirus paranoia isn't fading. Angela Buttolph has taken matters into her own hands
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/life/confessions-coronavirus-prepper/
Earlier this week, I came out on social media. My name’s Angela and I am a Coronavirus food prepper.
I’d been carefully keeping this a deep, dark, super-embarrassing secret. I thought I was the only one gripped by paranoia, surrounded as I was by people repeating the mantra “flu kills more people each year!”. But then my friend Mel boldly admitted on Facebook “I’ve given in to my primal urge to stock up in case of a Coronavirus outbreak.” Oh, the relief! Finally, an ally!
And so I confessed all; I’d had 150 tins of food delivered a fortnight ago. Others piled onto the thread, sharing their own dirty secrets; about finding the best paper masks (apparently FFP3 are the gold standard) tracking down industrial strength anti-bac hand gel (fast selling out).
My deep, dark secret is finally out... I'm a coronavirus prepper Credit: John Nguyen /JNVisuals
“I’ve bought a litre of hand sanitiser and stocked up on lentils” another reported; “Our food delivery driver this week had just delivered £900 worth of food to one house who said they were not going to leave the house for a few weeks,” posted another. Once I started asking around it was everywhere - from husbands returning home with the car boot piled high with booze and frozen food to friends “getting a few extra bits, just in case”.
I can’t take credit for my foresight. Weeks ago, my father, a scientist, told me matter-of-factly “it’s time to start putting away some supplies, in case you need to isolate yourself, and deliveries are stopped”. I laughed, but he pointed out that as I have severe asthma, I’m an at-risk group – as are my parents, now in their late 70s.
Still, I shrugged it off. But the very next day, the ‘super-spreader’ was revealed to be a parent at a Brighton primary school and, as the mother of a primary school aged child, my blood ran cold. If Brighton, why not here in leafy St Albans? Now my dad’s words seemed prescient, not paranoid: I had visions of empty supermarket shelves, looting of stores and fighting in the aisles.
Italians are already facing empty shelves... how long until this hits Britain? Credit: Flavio Lo Scalzo /Reuters
Following a semi-hysterical call to my husband, I logged onto Tesco.com, but after some wild-eyed scrolling I realised I didn’t really know what I was looking for [note to online supermarkets; launch those food prepper packages now]. Our freezer is miniscule, just three drawers, and besides, I didn’t like the idea of relying on an appliance in an emergency. No, it would have to be tins, and if I was going down that route, I might as well follow this project to its ultimate conclusion: googling “apocalypse food prep UK”.
I arrived at ukpreppersguide.co.uk and found a post entitled ‘Basic Food Storage for Prepping for Disasters And SHTF’. SHTF being s--- hits the fan; I decided a Coronavirus outbreak would definitely qualify. The post told me how much to buy for a month for a family of four. Okay, so Coronavirus usually only requires a fortnight’s isolation, but once you start imagining the end of the world, you get reeeally cautious.
My brain was beginning to buzz with the imagined urgency of my task. Supposing other people were also doing this right now and the tins would be all sold out by the time I ordered? Supposing deliveries were suspended?
Focus, focus: I flicked back to my Tesco tab and perused the options, ooh, Sweet and Sour Chicken could certainly cheer things up during a month of dreary isolation. But when I reread the food preppers blog, I realised I was making a rookie error - its list of basic rations was just that: tins of plain meat which, for two parents and a child, could be one meal. A can of Sweet and Sour chicken, half sauce and vegetables, would only serve one. I got down to basics: tinned chicken (eww), ham, tuna. How did I get here? We pretty much just eat fresh fish and freshly-made vegetarian food these days. Although a small part of me was quite excited to try that 1970s primary school lunch favourite, corned beef.
Let’s face it, this isolation malarkey is not going to be glamourous or fun. We might actually not want to survive by the end of it – quarantine with a bored six-year-old will be gruelling enough without grim food. The methane alone from all the cans of beans and pulses (essential protein) might finish us off.
In the end if took three hours to order 150 cans. If you think a weekly shop is faffy, now imagine you’re prepping for Armaggedon for a month in unknown, tinned-food territory. The bright side is at least it’s cheap - necessary, given I ordered:
- 45 cans of meat
- 25 cans of fruit
- 50 cans of vegetables
- 17 tins and packets of beans and chickpeas
- 15 bags of rice
- 8 bags of porridge
- 5 jars of honey
- 5 bottles of antibac liquid soap (hand gel was out of stock)
- 1 big packet of table salt
- 1 giant box of laundry detergent
- 1 giant pack of loo roll
45 cans of meat, 25 cans of fruit, 50 cans of vegetables... check, check, check Credit: JNVisuals /John Nguyen
I didn’t feel like I was over-reacting. Until the Tesco delivery man rang the bell the next day, entirely concealed behind a six-foot-high stack of crates. I had briefly thought about the fact that Tesco no longer offer bags with deliveries as I merrily racked up the items in my online shopping basket, but nothing prepared me for the vast volume of food that was about to invade my tiny home. Each crate I emptied into the hallway was an avalanche. Tesco delivery man, ungallantly standing watching me scrabbling around, asked “so what’s all this about then? You stocking up a bit?”
Red-faced, I mumbled “yes, that kind of thing”. He wasn’t convinced: “are you having a party? Going on holiday?.... Is it for Brexit?” he finally hit upon, which felt somehow in the right ball park, but that fear obsession is so last year. I was far too mortified to admit what I was doing. I realised I looked completely mad. I might as well have told him I was stocking up for a zombie apocalypse.
My husband arrived home during the can tsunami, gawped in alarm, but wisely remained schtum. There was food everywhere. I stacked half the cans in the bottom shelf of the food cupboard and the rest in the cupboard under the stairs, and tried to forget about them. The only other person I could face telling was my best friend, who suggested stashing it all in the shed. “Yes, but there’s no lock, and the neighbours can see it and I don’t have a rifle yet” I half-joked.
Because, for all my contentment at having done something, I realised the whole project smacks of ‘I’m alright, Jack’. Sure, I’d taken care of my family, but what if a neighbour knocked on the door to ask for a can of beans? I still don’t know how it would all work.
Meanwhile, the great thing about a hobby like food prepping is you’re never finished. I’m still picking up the odd carton of UHT milk, and now that I’ve achieved the level of Basic Food Prepper (fist pump), I’m onto working on luxuries; coffee pods, chocolate, wine, some frozen avocados…maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
So, what should be on the list?
Food and drink
Buy rice and porridge in smaller bags, so if any split or go bad it’s only a small quantity that’s spoiled. Avoid products bulked out with sauces - and get extra tin openers. Should the threat of contaminated water arise, a filtered bottle could come in handy.
The 400l Lifesaver bottle has a filtration level of 0.0015 Microns, which allows you to use water from natural sources such as ponds, lakes and rivers, while protecting you from waterborne viruses and bacteria. £95, Emergency Food Storage
Gear
There is debate among medical professionals over how effective face masks are in stopping the spread of coronavirus. However, the demand for them is so great that many retailers are completely sold out. FFP2 grade face masks meet the guidance from the World Health Organisation (WHO). £19.99 ukmeds.co.uk
From ration packs to a foil blanket, a 48-hour emergency pack is worth the £233.64 for serious preppers. preppersshop.co.uk
Full body suits have also been selling out fast in retailers across the UK. Amazon is stocking Dedicated Chemical Protective Clothing for £29.70, amazon.co.uk
If Coronavirus prep is giving you a headache, the Ultimate Medical Kit from NOMAD contains paracetamol, ibuprofen, six sachets of rehydration solution and a small sterile injection kit, alongside all the usual first aid material such as bandages and plasters. £50, nomadtravel.co.uk
I needed 175 items for a next-day delivery (no time to waste) Credit: John Nguyen/JNVisuals
