Earlier this month, the government launched its ‘Prepare’ campaign, urging us to plan for all manner of emergencies and put together a kit of food and supplies big enough to last several days. Housing Secretary Angela Rayner helpfully revealed what she’d be stockpiling: ‘Mascara, concealer, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, some baked beans and a tin of custard – I like custard.’

This is perfect timing: Putin seems to be breathing a little more heavily down our necks and – phew! – I’ve just moved into a house with an understairs cupboard big enough for an emergency pantry.

A quick glance online tells me I can buy so-called ‘go bags’ complete with first aid kits, head torches, mess tins and fire starters from roughly £175. All very useful, no doubt, but not much fun.

So I dig a little further and come across the X page of Lucy Easthope, a disaster expert who’s advised the government on all manner of catastrophes, including, most recently, the Covid pandemic. She suggests: ‘It’s OK for the 72-hour [emergency] cupboard to be things you like.’ Say no more. In the spirit of Angela Rayner, I shall make my own survival kit.

This should be easy, I think. I’ve long felt I have the makings of a survivalist: every time I go on holiday to the Mediterranean, I make sure to leave space in my hold luggage for a few bottles of good red wine and extra-virgin olive oil. It just tastes so much better when bought from the source – and it’s good to be prepared for when the Filippo Berio spikes above £10 a litre back home.

Hoarding three days of supplies shouldn’t have to take on the frantic nature of dashing for loo roll at the start of lockdown. I log into my Sainsbury’s delivery app and get tapping. In go a selection of jarred beans and chickpeas (not the tinned stuff, please), as well as capers and artichokes. Next, some tinned tomatoes, olives (Perelló, obvs), tuna and anchovies. I’m not sure even the apocalypse could make me desperate enough to buy corned beef.

I opt for a bottle of concentrated lemon juice, and while I’m not confident it will provide much vitamin C, it would mean I could still churn out some homemade hummus when things get tough. Next go in crackers (Peter’s Yard – for the hummus) and a few packets of rice and pasta.

Luckily, I’ve got a pretty well-stocked spice rack so don’t have to worry too much about flavouring my emergency rations. I’m also sorted for a can opener, corkscrew (for the lovely Mediterranean reds) and battery-powered meat thermometer – would you want to be getting food poisoning in a national emergency? I do, however, make a mental note to pop into Holland and Barrett next time I’m passing for some peppermint and charcoal pills, both meant to be very good for upset stomachs.

The World Health Organisation recommends keeping ten litres of water per household member per day in supply. Those big plastic five-litre canisters of water are somewhat unsightly, but needs must and, in any case, they’ll be well hidden under my stairs.

We will also need that water for cooking and washing, which makes me think I’d better invest in a few good jugs for the tub – the water flow from my navy-blue Oliver Bonas jug is a little hard to control. I add some San Pellegrino to the basket too, because in times of hardship, it will be important to keep our dignity.

Not even the apocalypse could make me desperate enough to buy corned beef

I also have the cat to think about. I usually feed him fresh, 100 per cent real meat food that, to my husband’s chagrin, takes up most of our freezer. But if the power cuts out, that would all go off quite quickly. I chuck a few boxes of kibble into the order – I hope the cat forgives me.

I stock up on candles (tapered, of course – and enough to fill the freshly mounted wall sconces in my new dining room) and matches. Once that order is sorted, I also toggle over to John Lewis for a swanky Roberts radio – battery- and solar-powered – so I can listen to any government emergency updates as and when disaster strikes.

I’m not the only person I know who’s thinking about survival. A friend of a friend has taken up crossbow lessons and another is learning to fish. I vow to do better with my vegetable patch next year (or would I be better off digging a shelter in the garden instead?) and to learn how to pickle.

Easthope has gathered an impressive 30,000 followers on X, all keen to get her tips on how to prepare – so I’m glad I’m not alone. One comments under her post: ‘Now I want “The Great British Prep Off”. You and Nigella in a field hospital or mass decontamination centre-style tent guiding contestants through “apocalypse of the week” themed tasks.’ Count me in – but only once my Sainsbury’s shop arrives.