Throwing a Tiny Spark

A Fire Starter For Conversation

Not every concern requires a personal campaign. Some simply ask us to pay attention, to notice when conscience nudges us, not loudly, but persistently.

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Photo by Дарья Морозова on Unsplash

I rationalised. This is not my crusade. There are other champions of this cause, and I’m sure they’ve got it covered.

Was I slightly irritated or was I seeing red mist? Where was I on the scale of being outraged, and what was driving me to share my views? Who would care if I did?

Arriving home, I peeled off my wet coat and boots. Sitting close to the fire, I stared into the flames, looking for answers.

I sipped my tea, watching the misty steam rising from my mug, swirling, then disappearing into the atmosphere. Would my fury dissipate too, I pondered? But still, I felt a pinprick of irritation.

It wasn’t just the price. I can afford it. I don’t have to eat gluten-free, but my guest does. Mostly, I suggest avoiding processed gluten-free products, as they’re often full of unhealthy extras. But I couldn’t let it go.

I’ve been working in the field of nutrition for the past 15 years. I get annoyed at opportunistic retailers who slap unreasonably high margins on everyday foods, labelling them as healthier options.

There were only a couple of items on the shopping list. Maybe that was why it was so obvious. The receipt clearly highlighted the price, which seemed a bit steep. It stood out. I felt ripped off.

A quick check revealed four supermarkets all charging a similar price for the same branded product. But here was the thing: the same brand sold non-gluten-free pitta breads for 40% cheaper. It seemed excessive to me and unfair. I was compelled to call them out.

The online form was designed for complaints about quality. So I wasn’t hopeful that my questions would reach anyone. If you’ve ever completed an online form you’ll know it’s rather a bland way to express your emotions. Wouldn’t it be more fun if they offered a drop-down menu of sign-offs—or better still, an invitation to write our own? Like the wonderfully expressive flourishes when signing off a letter destined for the editor’s page.

I found myself fantasising about my own preferred sign-off. Perhaps Burning with rage on behalf of gluten-free consumers. Or, on a more measured note, Advocating for equity in gluten-free pricing. The latter is probably more my style. I prefer to influence rather than bang my fists on the table to gain attention.

Natasha from customer care got back to me with a professional and comprehensive reply, just as you’d expect from a reputable company. The gist of it was this: gluten-free ingredients are more expensive; the production of gluten-free pitta breads is not automated, so is therefore labour-intensive; the market is small, so they don’t have the economies of scale; and finally, it’s the supermarkets who decide the selling price. I was dismayed. I could have penned this reply myself. I’d learned nothing new, but to be fair, Natasha is unaware of my background knowledge of the food industry.

I felt dismissed. The underlying message was, “thank you for raising the issue, but we won’t do anything about it.” The seed of irritation did not dissolve; it was positively germinating. I could’ve just let it go. But… why not have a go from another angle, I thought.

Light a spark, throw a match, let the issue take light somewhere different.

I bounced it back to Natasha, who may or may not be a bot. I politely replied, asking her to flag it up within their organisation. Maybe Natasha or her manager are also concerned about food pricing ethics. Perhaps it’ll get a mention at a future team meeting, or when the big boss tours the factory, they’ll ask, “what are our customers concerned about?” Who knows where my feedback may land.

More than a week passed, but my irritation would not disappear.

So today, I was striding across the moor in the pouring rain, with nothing more to do but hold my jacket hood firm against the gusty wind and notice my passing thoughts.

I kept circling back to this seemingly small injustice. I know my gripe is more than just about the price of a pitta bread. I’ve got bigger concerns. It’s about a food system that puts profit over provenance, scaling food production over health. Governments fret over chronic illness, yet they miss the bigger picture—what if we invested in health first, making safe, nourishing food affordable and within everyone’s reach? No one is joining up the dots. Or perhaps they deliberately ignore the dots.

As I stomped through the driving rain, I composed letters in my head to the big supermarket chains, suggesting they examine their pricing and profit margins for fairness. I considered who else I may add to the circulation list: the Minister for Health, the Bakery CEO, and perhaps even a TV consumer show.

Back in front of the fire, I’m wondering if all of these letters are a good use of my time, and does the world require me to follow through on this? Would it even matter? I’m conflicted. But then I remember—I can let the issue take light elsewhere.

I decide to take a light-touch approach. I’ll message the Bakery CEO via LinkedIn. Looking at his website, he seems a good guy, and he’s the one with connections to the retailers. His customers, his crusade, not mine. But I feel I’ve played my small part by throwing a tiny spark, and I trust that it’ll take light.

So where have all the to-ings and fro-ings of my mind got me? Well, I’ve realised that I’m not required to always be part of the full conversation or the solution—it is enough to light the spark and trust in others to fan the flames.

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The world needs us (me and you) to get involved in conversations, especially when we feel the pinprick of irritation or conscience.

You may be the one who is the spark that creates a difference.