Organic

“Is it organic?” Yes, love – it’s made of carbon, not balsa wood and fairy farts.

We’ve reached a point in civilisation where the word organic is doing so much heavy lifting, it’s liable to suffer a hernia. To a chemist, everything from your apple to your armpit to the air-freshener that failed to mask the aftermath of last night’s vindaloo is organic – because they all contain carbon-based molecules. That’s it. No sandals or windchimes required.

But wander down the aisles of a supermarket and suddenly organic is a holy word, whispered reverently over £3.49 courgettes. There, it means free from pesticides, grown by chanting druids under a full moon, and carried to the distribution centre on the back of a compost-fuelled alpaca.

Which would be fine – if it weren’t for the fact that we’re all now terrified of “chemicals”, despite being entirely made of them. Someone once told me they only used chemical-free shampoo. I asked if they washed their hair with vacuum.

Meanwhile, in the lab, a chemist is swirling a beaker of white spirit – a petroleum-derived hydrocarbon used to dissolve other hydrocarbons – and muttering, “Well of course it’s organic, it's got more carbon than a barbecue in a coal mine.”

So next time someone smugly declares their food is “100% organic”, remind them so is heroin. So is diesel. So, for that matter, is a Tory MP – albeit one composed mainly of spin, resentment, and decaying hydrocarbons.

Organic? We’re soaking in it.