"When this storm is over, we'll be in a new ice age."

My nearest town - a worthy modern-day successor to the Newgate described by Dickens in the heading of this blog - offers a variety of supermarkets.

As a rule, I avoid the biggest one; serving two notoriously rough estates, it has an unenviable reputation for violence and shoplifting - and in any case, the Spouse's habit of referring to it as 'the Ugly Bug Ball' means I can't get the tune out of my head for days after a trip there.

So, anyway, to yesterday morning, and a routine trip to one of of its quieter rivals in a nicer part of town; it became obvious as I neared the place, however, that normal rules were not going to apply. The queue to get into the car park stretched out past the traffic lights on the main road, at which point a significant proportion of motorists had decided to make it up as they went along.

Once in the line, there was no backing out - literally. Having fought my way through the melee to a parking space  (a task requiring the eyes of a hawk and nerves of steel), secured one of the few available trolleys and managed to lay hold of the groceries I needed, I made my way home and sat down with a restorative cup of coffee to catch up on the news before work.

Thus it was that, in due course, I found myself looking at the Mail's lead story, and all suddenly became clear: "Don't travel tomorrow" shrieked the headline, "Motorists warned to stay off the road as Britain faces six inches of snow"

The scrum at the supermarket probably included a fair few stampeding Mail readers, all intent on buying the wherewithal to see them through, judging by their trolleys, most of the next ice age. Meanwhile, A K Haart, who had a similar experience in his local Sainsburys, describes frenzied shoppers seizing vast quantities of potatoes and cake, presumably in fear of some kind of appalling carbohydrate crisis.

And, just to compound the problem, recent news of unexpected ingredients in cheap, own-brand burgers seems to have badly frightened the very shoppers most likely to be swayed by the Mail's frenzied predictions and sent them upmarket, making Sainsbury's this week's panic-buying venue of choice.

By yesterday evening, the lead story had changed; the new headline vaunted the results of the Mail's self-fulfilling prophecy in a rather long-winded headline accompanied by appropriate pictures:

Panic buyers strip shelves after Met Office issues blizzard alert for Wales as Britain braces for blanket of up to 12in of snow tomorrow

It's the Holy Grail of sensational journalism; cause the panic, then report in depth on its consequences. Just as Robert Peston's gleeful coverage of queues outside a single branch of Northern Rock sparked the national scramble that catapulted him to reporting stardom, the news story creates the news.

And the Mail is in its element, sending its readers out in their thousands to empty the shelves of the supermarkets rather than their own store cupboards - how many of us really don't have enough food in the house to see us through until the roads are cleared?

Even the more sedate Telegraph is getting in on the act, with live coverage of the '40-hour snowstorm' and an interesting insight into the mind (if you can call it that) of the panic-buyer. In the words of one shop assistant in the impenetrable wilderness of the Home Counties:

"One woman told me that all the TV forecasters and newspapers are predicting the country will be under a foot of snow and all the roads will be blocked by tomorrow.  

She said she decided to rush in and do a massive shop because all her friends were doing it, and if she put it off, there would be nothing left and she wouldn't be able to get here anyway through all the snow."

The rest of Europe must be laughing themselves sick; why do we make such a fuss about a few centimetres of snow? Does it really matter that we might run out of bread or potatoes for a day or so and have to eat rice or pasta from the store cupboard instead? Surely, once upon a time, we would have taken it in our stride; now it's a disaster of epic proportions, requiring suitably dramatic presentation.


Update: latest Mail headline - which nominally applies only to Wales, but when did reason ever stop the impressionable taking fright?

...public warned to stay inside and avoid all travel

Fish Spas and the Giant Squid

It would be fair to say that our nearest town is not a feast for the eyes. A few misguided tourists do find their way here but, after a fruitless search for historical attractions or picturesque scenes, they generally end up drifting round the shopping centre like everyone else.

It is not a prosperous area; figures show a depressingly low per capita income and a significant number of people on benefits - not surprising when part of the town has achieved national notoriety as 'Chav Central'. That aspect is mirrored in the abundance of pound shops and a prominently-placed pawnbrokers.

And yet a stroll round the town provides an interesting counterpoint. In just two short streets, you can count six hairdressers - of the unisex trendy and expensive kind - as well as a tanning salon, two tattoo parlours, four nail bars and, as of this week, a fish pedicure shop.

Few of these establishments cater for the shy and retiring; the emphasis in on treatments in the shop window under the public gaze - perhaps part of the attraction is being seen to have your roots/nails/feet done, making it the ultimate in conspicuous consumption.

After all, none of these things comes cheap - and there's the puzzle. In a town where, we are told, belts have been tightened to wasp-like proportions, where do these customers come from? For customers there are in abundance, smirking out from their shop window vantage points with their hair in foil or their feet in a fishtank.

There is only one conclusion; that the official figures don't even begin to tell the story. That, far removed from the headlines, a black economy is thriving and expanding so fast that businesses like these can open up in prime locations in the current economic climate and be sure of a steady income via the hip pockets of the locals.

The scale of it is a classic 'known unknown' - we are aware it's out there, but the size of it is a complete mystery and there's no way to deal with it; like the giant squid of legend, the monster lurks in the depths of society, extending its tentacles in every direction - unknowable, unquantifiable and potentially dangerous.