Near my office there’s a place where I like to buy lunch. 

They have one very agreeable item which I was inclined to purchase regularly until recently – a tasty roll that was generously proportioned. 

But I have felt the impact of inflation on this favourite of mine. 

I recall my lunch used to cost $12 barely two years ago, or maybe a bit before that. 

That was for an item that I felt a bit guilty eating all in one go because, let’s face it, the good life starts to take its toll as we get older and it was a big serve. 

Then I noticed a price jump, to around $14. 

Not huge, but enough for me to weigh up the economics of paying that each day against bringing something from home. 

Given I was increasingly conscious of my health, it also seemed a reasonable incentive to change a bad habit. 

I was already, on occasion, eating half a roll one day and saving the rest for the next, so that became the norm. 

Naturally, I visited the shop half as much, or thereabouts. 

Then, in my opinion, the product was downsized. Shrinkflation at my favourite lunch spot! 

That made what was a regular favourite more of an occasional treat. And then the price kept moving, upwards. 

It is now $17 and I only really get one meal out of it, maybe one and half, which is no use to anybody. 

I actively courted the possibility of a lunch roll soon costing $20; extrapolate that to a full time worker, frequenting the same lunch bar every working day. 

It seems absurd – especially when lunch in Tokyo is cheaper.

As a result of these shifts, I buy even less. You don’t need to be an economist to understand what is taking place here. 

And writ large, this has been a challenge across the whole economy during the past two-to-three years. 

I realise I am not telling you anything you don’t already know. But now we have the chaos of a war in the Middle East, with its immediate impact on oil prices and supply of key fuel products, flowing on to everything else. 

The lunch bar will be baking in rising costs from across its supply chain, from delivery vans to flour producers. 

They are probably thinking $20 as well, wondering how quickly they can get there to take pressure off their margins. 

Maybe $19.90 just to reduce the psychological impact of having a two as the first number. 

I feel we have a lot more of this to go through, especially if the conflict in the Middle East drags out for months or sits in some kind of stalemate where no one has won but trade remains affected. 

After the pandemic, we did a lot to adjust supply chains to reduce the risk of reliance on single markets or transport routes, but it clearly has not gone far enough. 

There are many things we should be doing for ourselves, but the problem is at what cost? 

If we were to derisk our economy through self-reliance, my lunch roll might cost $30, or more. 

We used to do that with cars, for example. Local production meant, compared to global norms, cars cost twice as much, lacked many features and gave consumers limited choice. 

During the 1980s and 1990s, much of that protectionism was discarded for globalisation. 

We exchanged self-reliance for open markets and, for a long time, enjoyed the fruits of that. Reversing from that involves a lot of expense to just insure against sovereign risk. 

It also reintroduces different risks. 

Back in the day, unions knew they could put their foot on the production hose any time they wanted because the political pressure of protection was worth more than the cost of wage rises that could be passed on. 

Industrial action at car factories was frequent. And the high cost of vehicles and other protected goods meant many other purchases were delayed. 

The best way to describe that is simply a less affluent society. 

I am mindful that the inflation from reducing sovereign risk may come at a considerable price, and we may all feel poorer for it. 

The question is whether we have a choice and can we avoid the mistakes of the past?