I never thought I would find myself making major lifestyle changes on behalf of the insect population of the world. In days gone by, I was guilty of seeing insects as the enemy; moths flitting in through the kitchen window, cockroaches scuttling across my path in the toilets of a Tokyo bar in summertime, That Time I Called My Mother At Work 6000 Miles Away Because There Was a Large Spider in my Apartment.

That was before. Before I read a fateful article in the Guardian about the forthcoming mass extinction of all insects ever, and nearly had a heart attack.

Insects of the world, I take it all back! Some of you are actually really nice! Like bees! And butterflies! And those beetles that look like little jewels and look fabulous as a brooch.* They are lovely!

The thing is, as I’m sure you see, (and if you don’t, you need to read the article now. I’m serious) the chilling fact of the matter is that when the insects go, SO DO WE. We are all dead, extinct as the dinosaurs, and if I could go back in time 65 million years like Andy on one of his Dinosaur Adventures, I would, and I’d tell the things to hide from the meteorite, don’t go to Mexico on holiday this summer, JUST GET ARNIE TO BLAST THE DAMN THING BACK INTO SPACE WITH A NUKE, FOR GOD’S SAKE!

OK, that would obviously be ridiculous, but we are not the dinosaurs. For one thing, I don’t think I would want a T-rex marauding down the High Street. We all know how Jurassic Park turned out. At least for that guy on the toilet, so I guess the Chicxulub impact did us all a favour, but let’s forget the dinosaurs for a moment and concentrate on the future for a minute.

I DO NOT WANT HUMANITY TO BE EXTINCT.

No, not even if it meant I never had to see Donald Trump’s horrible orange face again, or hear about something ISIS have done. Not even if it meant I would never have to listen to the news media droning on about Brexit a moment longer. I will take the endless misery-board of world politics on the chin if it means that humanity is not going to be extinct. At least, not soon. If I could just have a moment’s respite that I am not currently living through the actual End Times, then I will be happy once more.

But there isn’t any respite, because I keep re-reading about the insects and ARMAGEDDON.

You see, the thing about being happy is that at the moment is that it feels a bit like sipping a cocktail in the first class lounge on the Titanic listening to the band play as it slips beneath the waves. There is no happy, there is only brief respite from the enduring misery of the forthcoming apocalypse.

So, in the spirit of actually trying to do something instead of moping about preaching the End of Days like a modern-day Cassandra, I have decided to rouse what little fighting spirit I have left in the face of enormous global catastrophe, and become vegan.**

If I am going down, I am going down fighting. And eating tofu.

I am not taking any more flights (rubs hands in secret glee at my new holier-than-thou excuse to not get on a plane. Previously I have blamed being “too scared,” which is less noble, despite my attempts at styling it out like Mr T in The A Team), and I am going to start eating organic (wherever possible) and shopping locally rather than in the supermarket (which is handy as the local greengrocer has just started opening later).

Basically I am now an eco-warrior. Forests, hear me roar.

If there are any forests left, that is. I am seriously thinking of planting one in my garden, but given the size it would have to be a forest of bonsai trees.

I wonder if I could get away with keeping bees out there? I mean, the neighbours have chickens.

Anyway, now that I have told everyone about this, including all my colleagues, all the students at school (teenagers never forget) and even my mother (who thinks I am mad. Always) I have to stick to it. And now I have told the entire internet, so that’s it, me and halloumi are definitely over. And me and camembert, stilton and a decent cup of tea, but it’s for the insects. When they call, I reply. And hopefully when we all die and the two cockroaches that are left take over the world, they will remember that I did it for them.

*I wouldn’t actually wear a beetle as a brooch. I mean, bloody hell. Talk about immoral exploitation of our lovely insects. And also wouldn’t it rot? But I would buy a metal brooch in the shape of a beetle. Might be a good way of showing my support for the oppressed insects of the world, whilst simultaneously looking fabulous.

**It didn’t go down too well last time, but that was before I knew about the insects.