Happy 2026! Here’s what’s in my doomsday go-bag

What’s in yours?

Koen and Billy in a few years. I was eaten early.

An audio version of this article (by me!) is available here:

January’s dire, isn’t it? To cheer myself up, I’ve started pulling together our family’s go-bag. You know, the bag that’ll help you survive the first 72 hours of a national shutdown. I guess after three days, the hope is that the government will have stepped in and told everyone what to do. Either that, or those who haven’t carked it from whatever catastrophe was unleashed will be wandering the streets, pushing squeaky shopping trolleys and trying to avoid cannibal farms à la Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. (Great book. Blood Meridian, though? Total dirge.)

I’m on go-bag duty now because, as mentioned in my Just One More Thing sign-off post at the end of last year, the Dutch government recently sent out a booklet to every home titled “Bereid je voor op een noodsituatie” (“Prepare yourself for an emergency”), detailing all of the disasters that might befall The Netherlands at the drop of a pancake and how best to prepare for them.

I, of course, found the whole thing hilarious, particularly as the booklet came with no accompanying letter – no caveat that this was a “just in case” or regular missive being updated. Apparently it had been all over Dutch news, but while I am having lessons, my Dutch language skills currently stretch to asking, “Kan ik alsjeblieft wat minder schuim op mijn kleine biertje krijgen, in godsnaam?” (“Can I please have less foam on my tiny beer, for the love of God?”)

Anyway, “Cheer up, lads!” I shouted out of the window upon receiving my booklet. “Trump’s people can’t even redact the Jeffrey Epstein files properly – Elon Musk and his DOGE bros unsubscribed the government from Adobe Pro so they had to use the highlighter app instead – they won’t be able to touch us!” (The Adobe Pro thing is possibly true, by the way, which is fantastic.)

But then the whole Venezuela thing happened. Iran happened. Minnesota happened. And then I remembered Russia. And Gaza. And how Elon Musk owns the internet and thinks that his AI gremlin creating child and revenge porn is tickety-boo (and how he’s probably watching me through my laptop right now). I had to acknowledge that maybe this wasn’t the same as that time your eccentric uncle leafleted the whole town warning about roundabouts being a force of social control. And so my guffaws petered out, I taped up my laptop camera, made a disappointing G&T (flat tonic), stared at the floor, and decided to buy some disaster supplies.

What do you mean, you don’t like Dr Pepper?

What I have so far

Torches. Two. Big ones. They have an SOS button on top that either sets off an alarm or activates the Bat-Signal. I don’t know which yet as they haven’t arrived, but obviously I’m hoping for the latter. (Note to self: also buy a Batman-style voice distorter. Just because.)

Batteries. Loads. For…

An FM/AM battery-powered radio. It’s cute. I have no idea how it works, but it reminds me of the radio in my mum’s old red Metro car from when I was a kid, which means it’s already earned its way into both the go-bag and my heart.

A first aid kit. The problem here, though, is that this is the only legitimate medical kit we have in the flat, so we keep nicking things out of it to use. Before this kit, our only supplies consisted of a dusty bottle of six-year-old Night Nurse (top stuff) and some Dioralyte from 2016 (probably not great, but I can’t bring myself to chuck it away. It’s vintage.)

A power bank. We really should have had one of these anyway, but I do enjoy the sense of nihilism that comes with an ever-decreasing battery and no way of charging it. Sitting on a train stuck in the middle of nowhere on 12%? It makes me feel alive.

Candles. I have about 20 scented candles from Ikea. You know the type you throw into your trolley thinking, “One can never have enough scented candles!” and then get home and realise one can definitely have enough.

Hand sanitiser and face masks. Our Covid supplies are still going strong.

Two whistles with neck straps. I now walk around the flat blowing them (yes, both) and bellowing “LAPS!” in my partner’s and son’s faces.

Things I still need to get or do:

Write down all important phone numbers or memorise them. As I said in an Instagram reel about the doomsday booklet, the only phone number I know off by heart is my home number from when I was 12. So I can ring the past for help.

Tinned foods. I do buy them, but then we eat them.

Bottles of water. We don’t have a car, so the thought of lugging fat bottles of water back from the shop never appeals, so we never do.

Walkie talkies. I don’t know how useful these will be, I just want them so I can pretend I’m in The Goonies.

A camping stove. Seeing as the idea of camping fills me with more horror than being a victim of a cannibal farm, I don’t have one of these and am loath to buy one just in case someone mistakes me for a camper and invites me on a trip.

So, that’s our plan for coping with the increasing batshittery of the world right now. What am I forgetting? Do you also have a go-bag? Are we being mad or sensible? See you down the cannibal farm?

Just One More Thing

I find the wink-wink, nudge-nudge, twitch-twitch approach to the state of the world right now (that I myself am very much engaging in) simultaneously reassuring and angst-inducing. No one wants to be the person to panic unnecessarily and look silly. Simultaneously, no one wants to be the person not to panic and look dead.

I’ve written about this strange internal conflict before. In 2023, Koen and I were in New Zealand and a cyclone was forecast to hit the exact spot we were heading for. “At what point during an impending disaster do you panic?” I wondered. “And what determines which ‘authority’ you trust – the news, other people, or your gut – and why? Why are some people acting like it’s the end of the world and some people like it’s a bit of drizzle? Are we wrong to be nervous? Are we not nervous enough?”

I continued: “It’s like we all wait for permission to freak out – with no one wanting to be the first to panic. No one wants to look like a prat. Or a coward. Or be wrong. There is also an innate faith in the ‘rightness’ of the world, that things will simply sort themselves out. What will be will be, etc. Similarly, a “this can’t be happening to me” mindset can lead into more general denial. Then there’s ‘pack mentality’: how we feel better protected in groups even when what we’re facing is fundamentally bigger and more powerful than the group. And never underestimate the reticence to lean into sensationalist headlines or chat (there’s only so much hyperbole we’re willing to swallow).”

After posting my reel about the Dutch disaster booklet, my immediate response was relief to learn that lots of other people had started buying doomsday gear, too. “Hey look, I’m not overreacting!” I thought. “Other people are also scared about things going south! Hurray!” Rationally, I know that’s a ridiculous response – yet it’s still there.

I find the collective reactions to what’s happening in the world right now fascinating and complicated. I’ve landed on the side of better safe than sorry. You’re all welcome at ours when shit gets real. We can get high on my 20 clashing scented candles and prank call our childhood homes together.

---

*My new book, Own Your Calm, is published in March 2026! Available across the US and Europe (in English), I’ve included the UK link here but please do check your local bookseller: Own Your Calm UK. I have written eight other (bestselling) mental-health books which have been translated into dozens of languages. I’ve also written a book about the TV show Friends which would make a delightful gift for any Friends obsessives. All are available to buy online or at your local bookshop.