You are allowed to feel lucky to be British. People seem to forget this.
The accent that somehow gets you served first abroad. Countryside that looks like it was painted by someone quietly showing off. A proper pub at the end of a wet walk. The shipping forecast read out every night to a nation that is, for the most part, not at sea.
But there is one blessing that never makes the list, and it never makes the list because the people compiling the list have spent a decade being told it is a problem to be managed rather than a gift to be counted.
British livestock farming.
Start with welfare. Britain sits near the very top of the global table for animal welfare law, level with Sweden and Austria, and ahead of every other major economy on earth. No country scores full marks, but nobody scores higher than we do. The animal that becomes your Sunday roast was made insensible before it knew a single thing was wrong, on a holding you could trace by the number printed on the label. There are corners of the world where none of that is true. We are not one of them.
Then the self-sufficiency, which is the part the net zero crowd would prefer you never sat down and worked out.
Britain is over 100% self-sufficient in lamb. We grow more than we eat and sell the surplus abroad. We are around 80% self-sufficient in beef, and very nearly self-sufficient in the milk in your tea. Now look at fresh vegetables, where we manage barely half of what we get through, the lowest figure since records began. The most resilient, most homegrown, least import-dependent food this entire country produces is the exact food we are being lectured to give up.
Sit with that one. It does not get any less strange the longer you stare at it.
And none of it is luck of the draw. It is the land itself. Britain was built, by rain and rock and ten thousand years of weather, to grow grass and very little else across most of its surface. You cannot put wheat on a Welsh hillside or a Cumbrian fell. You can put a cow on it, or a sheep, and stand back, and in return some of the most marginal farmland in Europe quietly turns out some of the finest red meat and dairy on the planet. The climate that ruins your barbecue is the same climate that grows the grass that feeds the herd that feeds you.
So here is the bit they leave out of the documentary.
You live in a country with the highest welfare standards, the shortest supply chains, the most suitable land, and a thousand-year head start, and you are being asked to feel guilty about eating the produce of all of it while you wait for an avocado to be flown in from a drained valley in Mexico.
So don't feel guilty. Feel lucky, and then go and put your money where your good fortune already is.
Eat British.