So the silken chrysalis that I found on my banana might be a sign. I unpicked it, to the horror of my children, to find an unremarkable shiny black thing within. I chucked it away and ate the fruit. But apparently the world's supply of bananas is under threat from plagues of bugs and fungal infections. Up to 20 per cent of the produce of bananas from Costa Rica, one of the world's key suppliers, has already been written off this year, thanks to plagues of "mealybugs" and the horrendous-sounding "scale" insect. Meanwhile, a banana-eating fungus is bearing down on plantations from Australia to Japan, and is poised to invade South America.
This is all very alarming, not least because the banana is the most lovable and characterful of all fruits. That is, if a fruit can have a character. It's not just that we share 50 per cent of our genes with them. The banana is crucial at so many of life's junctures: after marathons; with cross, toothless babies; in the search for luxury on breakfast cereal, we reach for the banana, surely the most brilliantly packaged and user-friendly member of the entire fruit kingdom.
Where would Carmen Miranda be without a bunch of them on her head? Where would the Jungle Book's King Louis be without that magnificent banana-peeling sequence, which reveals his innate superiority to everyone else in the Disney classic?
From Ian Hislop's indignation outside court ("if that's justice, then I'm a banana"), to Groucho Marx's pratfalls, the banana has been an invaluable asset and, frankly a joy to work with. It does have innate comedy value, as David Miliband found to his cost when he was photographed holding one during the 2008 Labour Party Conference. Now referred to as the "banana incident", this unwise move probably cost him the leadership.
