The Booker Prize has once again cemented Britain's place as a global literary powerhouse. This year's winner, an exploration of food and identity, strikes at the heart of the kitchen table economics I have reported on for decades. The novel, set in a northern town, traces the journey of a family through the cost of living crisis, their dinner table a chronicle of rising prices, shrinking portions, and the stubborn pride of a community that refuses to be broken.
The author, a former shop steward, spent years listening to the stories of factory workers and market traders. Their voices are here, in every chapter, every recipe, every bitterly earned penny. The prize money, a modest sum for a world of difference, will go to striking miners' families.
This is not just a win for literature. It is a win for the real economy. For the women who stretch a meal, the men who walk out in solidarity, the children who learn that a full plate is a political act.
The judges praised the 'unflinching portrayal of regional inequality'. They are right. The south may have its literary festivals, but the north has its stories.
And these stories matter. They matter because they remind us that the price of bread is never just the price of bread. It is dignity.
It is survival. It is the quiet revolution of the tea break. The UK's literary scene leads the world not because of its London bias, but because of its ability to hear the voices that break strikes and break bread.
