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I’ve had my fill of people born in the 1950s imagining how young people would have fared in the 1940sI don’t know about you, but lately I have been craving the cruel, cold horror of the blitz. Haven’t you? Huddling underground in tunnels, staring at the ceiling as the whistle of a bomb drops to ominous silence, the distant rumble of explosions, not knowing whether your family are alive, whether they will find enough of your friend to hold a proper funeral; whether, when you emerge into daylight again – if you ever emerge into daylight again – the things you hold dear will still be there. Doesn’t that sound good to you? They grew their own veg! They knew their neighbours’ names! It was a different era! Men wore shirts!We’re talking about “blitz spirit” again, obviously, because every time something mildly crisis-shaped happens in this country we hark back to the time our forebears barely survived a war. A couple of weeks ago we were on the precipice of blitz spirit mania because we manufactured a panic where a lot of people thought the petrol might run out. This week we’re doing blitz spirit because supply chain issues, as a direct result of voting for Brexit, might threaten the holy sanctity of Christmas dinner. This winter is going to be long and hard and cold, and for a lot of people the next few months will see them having to make the impossible decision between food and fuel. As a solution, the politicians and the media will cheerfully tell them: remember the war! Remember blitz spirit! They grew their own veg! Men wore shirts!Joel Golby is a writer for the Guardian and Vice and the author of Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant Brilliant Brilliant Continue reading...