Clearing out the kitchen cupboards isn’t normally grounds for accusations of sexual deviancy, but everyone has a breaking point. “Is this some kind of fetish?” my girlfriend asked, as I handed down perhaps the eight or ninth jar of poshed-up marmalade. More came. Alongside other stuff left over from Christmas hampers, soon a large carrier bag was full. “We’ll get a few more useful bits,” I said, “and pop to a food bank.”
London’s foodbanks do an astonishing and much-needed job. A month ago, the Standard reported that the Trussell Trust had distributed 454,000 emergency food parcels through its London networks. The number is a record, and marks a 171 per cent increase over five years ago. Among others, food banks support families with children and those grappling with health conditions, either physical or mental or both. That food bank usage is on the rise ought to be a source of societal shame, and a sharp jab in the Government’s ribs to pull its finger out. Universal Credit can’t be cutting it.
Interestingly, while most food banks accept monetary donations, not all accept food, and it seems giving away food is not as straightforward as it might seem. Buy excess in a supermarket, and many have donation points to drop it off in — Tesco, Aldi and Waitrose among them — though to donate food from elsewhere is harder, and usually requires individually labelling up each item to indicate it as an outsider. Not such an effort, perhaps, but it is an obstacle, and everyday life can get in the way of the simplest things.
And while the Trussell Trust covers so much of London with its food banks, I was surprised to find my nearest one a 45-minute walk away, or half an hour on public transport. Because I’m not really looking forward to lugging a bag of jam and cannellini beans a couple of miles across town, the bag has sat waiting for a fortnight now. Does that make me despicably lazy? Yes, and I can’t pretend otherwise. But I’ll wager there are others who would be the same — or others who, with work, the school run, the weekly shop or whatever, can’t find the time. Obstacles again. And a hard truth is, plenty of us are well-meaning but not especially committed.
It’s not just about trips to make big donations. What about those instances when supermarkets deliver groceries with substitutions that just don’t cut it? Or when there are wasteful presents — the teacher who gets unwanted bath gels and body lotions, or the hard-to-shop-for dad receiving fancy biscuits he’ll never eat? We all end up with bits we’ll never use, but someone else could.
Supporting food banks could be worked in our daily routines, much like recycling has been
Wouldn’t it be good if there were somewhere easy to put these things, other than the back of the cupboard, or the bin? Because surely few are willing to catch a bus to hand over a single can, a single box of cereal, the odd bottle of shower gel. Why isn’t it easier? Supporting food banks could be worked in our daily routines, much like recycling has been.
This isn’t about blame; I have nothing but admiration for London’s food banks. But after the marmalade debacle, I took to my wardrobe. Plenty went: unworn rash purchases; perfectly good suits that no longer fit; shirts with plenty of life left. Within a minute’s walk of my flat, in different directions, are two clothes donation points, steel boxes like bottle banks. I know the Trussell Trust and its ilk are already extremely pressed for cash. But couldn’t the council step in, and implement something like these donation points for food?
It’s not the complete answer, I know, but it’s an idea — a way of removing another obstacle. And a way of making food bank donations normal, routine, exactly as they should be.
Smell you later, Euros
Smell-O-Vision. Apparently first used with film as far back as 1906, I thought it was nothing but a Fifties fantasy of the future.
It’s now looking very 2024, as Fanzone 4D in Brixton is wafting the scent of freshly cut grass over the crowds who turn up to watch Saka, Walker and the rest of Southgate’s squad on the big screen for the Euros, so fans “live and breathe the exhilarating joys of every second of the game”.
It is promising “other scents” as well, to make it a hyperrealistic, immersive experience. Bovril, perhaps? Who knows. But here’s hoping they leave the urinal cakes and lager breath out of it.
