We're All Domed

When my future grandchildren sit on my lap, as we shelter in our protective bunker while the hot wind whips the scorched landscape above ground, and they look adoringly into my eyes and say "Grandad, when did it all turn to cack vis-a-vis the human race?" I shall tell them this.

"It all started to go wrong when they brought in plastic domes."

Plastic domes - the proof that the West has become just that bit too decadent to survive.

I'm not talking about plastic domes in general. Some of them are good, although I can't think of any at the moment.

No, I'm talking about the clear plastic domes used to protect the whippy top of certain creamy drinks purchased from the likes of Costa and Starbucks. What sort of namby-pamby bum of a world is this where we manufacture these little domes because somebody who works in an accountant's office A) can't drink their coffee unless there's a dairy homage to Margaret Thatcher* on the top of it, and B) can't bear to see the wind take the top off it?

The ones you get on ice-cream cones in freezer cabinets are even worse. Who decided there was a need for whipped Cornettos? Who thought that Cornettos were too hard?

I hate the human race for this. Not all the human race, mind you, just the ones directly responsible for this and some of those indirectly responsible.

* She invented Mr Whippy ice-cream, you know. True fact. It's probably on Wikipedia.