Lying in bed the other evening with two or three close colleagues I was struck by a singular thought. What would Darwin make of the current state of UK grocery?

Has Tesco become a brontosaurus, the small-brained behemoth of the Jurassic Retail Park, slowly collapsing under its own weight after it exhausts all the easy grazing? Is Morrisons then a velociraptor, that cretaceous scavenger and consumer of dodgy meat, thriving on the gradual extinction of larger rivals? And what of the hordes of lesser species, the Woolies Mammoth and the Zavvisaur, destined to fail through natural selection, aka being useless?

I considered this awhile as I came up for air before concluding “who gives a toss?”. It’s not the remit of senior Government ministers, or so I thought, to consider the broader health of the retail industry, as Mandy and Gordo have made all too apparent. Special pleading from colleagues in their smelly marginals has seen zillions in public moolah lavished on various sure-fire winners such as the “British” car industry.

Thank goodness, I thought, for Poundland! Where once we had engineering or shipping to power the British economy, now we have tatty chains flogging plastic laundry baskets as the flagship enterprises! What pride I feel, presiding over Britannia as she goes down.

Much the same could have been said for my PA Desirée. But unfortunately just at that moment the DRIP hotline rang: it was Mandy. Now it’s always nice to get a call at 3 am from Nobodaddy, and he filled me in on his latest brilliant plan to save the economy. This was to be a SWOT-style rescue of a national icon.

And thus it was I dispatched Desirée and her half-brother/half-sister with £20 from the DRIP petty cash box to purchase Branston from Premier. Saved for the nation – banking, Jaguar and now chunky pickle. I reckon old Chuck Darwin must be turning in his grave.