Ray Mears Extreme Apocalypse

Last night I watched Ray Mears, on a sojourn to a Belarusian forest, craft a spoon out of a bent log. He also made oil from birch bark and antiseptic soap from a weed. What a man he is – so entirely adapted to living off the land that he actually manages to stay quite tubby on it. He’s living evidence of just how many carbohydrates you can glean from the root of a bulrush.

I think it’s true to say that many useless city-folk like me admire Ray hugely. We like the fact that he’s got all these skills and he’s not a bonehead ex-SAS moustache. He’s a bit like us, in fact. We sit there on a Sunday night, after a weekend of shopping and watching DVDs, and imagine that we too could learn how to make rope from vine fibres. Indeed, he’s making a tidy living from conducting ‘bushcraft weekends’ for us to learn these skills.

The rule of Ray
I’m willing to go further in espousing my faith in Ray – I am willing to state that he will be King of Great Britain within ten years. Yes, you heard me right: Ray will reign as supreme overlord of these isles in a decade. This is my vision…

We all know that modern capitalist society is headed for oblivion. Our streets are overrun by feral children with rocket launchers; the oil’s going to run out; the climate is out of control; MRSA is killing us off in hospitals. Let’s face it – we’re fucked.

I think it’s all going to collapse faster than we think, a bit like a global version of the Easter Island apocalypse (thank you, Jared Diamond, for that example). Our flooded cities will erupt into an orgy of bloody violence as the supply chain breaks down and essential services evaporate.

When a civil society’s a memory and we’re chasing dogs around as dinner instead of popping a Tesco’s Finest meal into the microwave, who will we turn to amid the ruins? Who can lead us to salvation? Tony Blair? David Cameron? Ha, no! Their time will be past, lost in the rubble of Whitehall! No, it will be Ray – King Ray – who will be our Moses!

Tribal lore
Ray will emerge from the forest and organise us into a nature-loving tribal society. Armed only with our woodlore knives and ash-branch bows and arrows, we will learn to live from the bounty of the land.

Eventually, through the principle of survival of the fittest (or fattest in Ray’s case) we will be the most successful survivors of Armageddon. As we spread through Britain, those who oppose our peaceful way of life will be sacrificed, burnt alive in a giant wicker-Ray and their still-smoking flesh fed to our children.