Bear Grylls’ guide to foraging in bins

YOU pussies are whining about lockdown, but I’ve survived harsher conditions by drinking my own piss and staying in a hotel. Here’s my guide to staying alive by foraging from bins.

Retrieve your neighbours’ potato peelings

Not to eat the disgusting things, but because you can make a neat camouflage mask and sneak round to your mum’s. She’ll give you a cuddle and stock you up with all the essentials, like chocolate truffles, Radox bath soak and bouillon.

Drink bin juice 

It might be full of rat’s piss, but gag it down like soup to prove you’re as hard as me. It’ll probably give you Weil’s disease but at least you’ll be more exotic than all those chumps with coronavirus. I didn’t do my SAS training to be beaten by a disease that can strike down any old duffer.

Steal the actual wheelie bin

They make an excellent isolation pod for your child. Drill a few air holes and shove your kids in for the good of the family, because no one needs to hear ‘Baby Shark’ 133 times a day. Tell them how Daddy faced a real shark once, in an aquarium.

Pick nettles in the park

If the bins are just full of wine bottles, broaden your scavenging. Nettles make a lovely iron-rich soup if your Waitrose delivery doesn’t have spinach or watercress. You can also use nearby dock leaves for toilet paper, if you run out of Andrex Washlets. I hate it when that happens.

Go duck hunting

You’ve fed the ones in the park for years, now it’s payback time. Lure them with some crusts, then grab them when they paddle over. Remember to use your Swiss Army knife to score the fat so it crisps up properly. No one should stoop so low as to eat an unrendered duck breast, even TV tough guys like me.