It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine

What if the world had ended at 8am this morning? Any end-of-the-world 'friskiness' I might have had were quashed when I found myself, at 8am, walking around a party favours factory in high-visibility waistcoat and hairnet, clutching a clipboard and biro, doing a stocktake on bhaji spice, ground coriander and ginger puree. Perhaps I should have stayed at home and waited for the end that didn't come.
So that wouldn't have made for a very interesting answer to any grandchildren's enquiry about what I did when some Swiss scientists caused the Earth's destruction, would it? But I wouldn't have had any grandkids anyway because the world would have come to an end. Or something. I've confused myself now...