ow more than ever we could do with firm leadership, strong example-setting, and a nationwide feeling of unity that comes from knowing that We’re All In This Together. Good of Prince Charles to put on his best rumpled gardening jacket and stand port-faced in his own garden telling us all to pick some fruit, then. I was just thinking, “You know what would really get me through the endless doom of this pandemic? Inexpertly grabbing potatoes out of the ground for absolute minimum wage.” And just like that, Charlie came through. In case you have missed this because you have been indoors desperately trying to do your job through a series of janky video calls while also juggling childcare and shopping for food despite the constant restrictions and doing a bit of exercise without going within two metres of another person while doing it – lockdown resembling a complicated fox–chicken–grain river-crossing task rather than a genuine public health measure – then what you’ve missed is this: Britain’s crops are under threat of mouldering on the vine, and you need to do something about it. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem because our agriculture industry has relied on seasonal migrant workers, but a combination of pandemic flight restrictions and years of government-sanctioned xenophobia have painted us into a bit of a corner, potato-and-pear wise. Hence, Prince Charles. The solution to this mooted at the start of lockdown was the Pick For Britain campaign – a flimsily rebranded version of world war two’s Women’s Land Army – for which British workers at a loose end are recruited en masse to get the strawberries in. Or that’s the theory, anyway: even with long-term furloughs and job losses, the number of people signing up to spend two entire seasons living in farm-provided accommodation (with the rent often deducted from your minimum wage pay) and waking up at 5am for some reason just to go face-to-face with some asparagus has been low. It’s estimated we need 80,000 extra workers tilling the fields. As reported in the Times, the work placement charity Concordia said of 50,000 people initially interested, 6,000 made it to interview, 1,000 rejected jobs that they were offered, and only 150 took up offers of work. Farming is no longer the Enid Blyton-esque jolly-good-day’s-work-and-a-pint-of-ale-for-your-trouble! it used to be. It’s just hard graft for very little money, possibly Britain’s most sacred tradition. That’s why Pick For Britain got the big guns involved: Waitrose’s very own in-house royal. “If we are to harvest British fruit and vegetables this year, we need an army of people to help,” the Prince said, one hand in his pocket. “In the coming months, many thousands of people will be needed to bring in the crops. It will be hard graft but it is hugely important … People are needed who are genuinely going to commit. The phrase I have often heard is, ‘pickers who are stickers’.” There are some very loaded terms in there, aren’t there? Prince Charles saying “hard graft” alone should be enough to get the Robespierres among us fired up. The idea that he is parroting cool farming lingo that he has heard but never had to learn through work does rather put the (British-grown!) cherry on the sundae, too. Pick literally one brussels sprout out the ground, Prince Charles. Then I’ll join your little allotment army. Thing is, in a time of crisis like this, it’s actually a good opportunity for the royal family to show up and justify themselves to the non-believers. In good times, all they have to do is roll out some overly produced pageantry every couple of years – a bombastic flyovers-and-castles wedding, maybe, or show off a freshly swaddled heir – and the cheering commoners lap it up. But now we’ve all got to stay inside and bravely get over a once-in-a-generation catastrophe, what have we had from them? The Queen has sent two video messages from Windsor Castle, where she is holed up with a dozen staff and 100 budgerigars. Then Charles popped his head up to suggest we all get in the fields and toil. And that’s it. That’s your lot. What they’d give for Prince Harry right about now. Cheerfully sterilising his hands on TV. Tie tucked into his shirt, making a masked visit to a hospital. Explaining how he’s resisted boredom during a lifetime of furlough. Instead he’s laying low thousands of miles away so the Daily Mail no longer has anything to write about, and the British public remains resolutely uninspired. I’m not saying I want the royal family to do anything, exactly. I’m saying that after this period of conspicuous absence, surely we should have a performance review soon to see whether we really need them or not. At least get Philip out in the gardens at Windsor doing laps for the NHS, come on. • Joel Golby is the author of Brilliant, Brilliant, Brilliant Brilliant Brilliant