The OTHER fuel crisis

We lavish machines with the finest fuels to ensure they don't break down. Meanwhile, workers are surviving on junk food and energy drinks that will consign them prematurely to the scrap heap.

Demolition and construction companies claim that their workers are their greatest asset. So explain this.

A company will spend hundreds of thousands of pounds on a new excavator. Over the next few years, they will lavish that machine with the finest fuels and lubricants money can buy. The machine might only be in the fleet for four or five years, but during that time it will be inspected, maintained, cleaned and polished. Because machinery is sacred. Fuel is critical. Maintenance is mandatory.

Now consider the operator in the cab. Over the course of his or her career, they will cost as much as that excavator. And they will potentially stick around for 20 or 30 years. Yet they are fuelled by whatever they can grab on the go. A cold pasty. A Greggs sausage roll. A supermarket meal deal if there’s time. Washed down with a lukewarm energy drink or instant coffee from a flask older than they are.

We treat our machines like royalty. And we treat our people like dustbins.

This is the demolition and construction industry. Built on sweat. Driven by early starts, long days, relentless schedules. And the diet that supports it? Built on convenience. Not choice. And certainly not nutrition.

Often there’s no canteen. No fridge. No kitchen. Just the same handful of options within walking distance of wherever the job happens to be that day. Food becomes function, not fuel. Calories for the sake of keeping going.

You don’t stop to think about vitamins when you’re running on three hours sleep and trying to beat the rain. You don’t calculate protein when your break is 15 minutes and you’ve already spent five of them wiping engine oil from your hands.

You eat what’s there. You drink what gives you a kick. And you get on with it.

But the cost creeps in. Slowly.

You don’t see the damage because you’re used to discomfort. You live with sore backs, busted knees, and ringing ears. So when fatigue becomes normal, when concentration dips, when sleep gets worse, when moods darken, you just chalk it up to the job.

But nutrition is behind more of it than we care to admit.

Consistently poor diets lead to more than just a belly hanging over your belt. We’re talking about heart disease. Type 2 diabetes. High blood pressure. Liver and kidney problems. Digestive issues. Mental fatigue. Brain fog. Depression.

And the stats back it up. Construction workers are four times more likely to die from preventable diseases like heart conditions than from workplace accidents. Four times. And poor diet is one of the biggest contributors.

PPE on the outside won’t protect you from the damage being done inside your body.

Now let’s look at a couple of the key culprits.

You know the drill. You’re halfway through your shift. Your arms feel heavy, your brain’s in a fog. You grab a can of Monster or Red Bull and push on. That artificial jolt feels like power.

But it’s fake power.

Energy drinks don’t fuel you, they fool you. They spike your blood sugar, mess with your heart rate, and leave you crashing harder than before. They mask exhaustion instead of fixing it.

And when you rely on them daily, your sleep suffers. Your stress rises. Your heart’s under constant strain.

It’s like taping over a warning light on a machine; just because you can’t see the problem doesn’t mean it’s not there.

And when the shift ends? For some, it's not dinner, it’s drinks. A few pints to take the edge off. A shot to wind down.

Not for celebration. For escape.

The aches, the pressure, the stress. They all add up. Alcohol becomes a medicine; a crutch. But it doesn’t heal. It masks. It numbs. And then it creates new problems: weight gain, liver strain, depression, poor sleep, and chronic fatigue.

It’s not just about what we’re eating. In many cases, it’s about what we’re using to cope. And most of it is doing more harm than good.

I’m not pointing fingers. I’m not preaching from some kale smoothie high horse. I’ve lived this. I know what it’s like.

You leave the house in the dark. You’re on site before the world wakes up. You’re halfway through your day by the time most people are still stirring their cereal. You eat when you can, where you can, whatever you can.

You're not lazy. You're not careless. You’re doing the best you can in a system that gives you zero help.

The structure of the industry - tight deadlines, long commutes, scattered sites, short breaks - makes healthy eating damn near impossible. And everyone knows it. But no one talks about it.

We put posters on the wall about “mental health awareness” and “wellbeing,” but we don’t give workers a decent place to sit and eat. We spend millions on safety rails and edge protection, but we leave blokes eating crisps on a pile of bricks in the rain.

It’s not a lack of will. It’s a lack of time. A lack of care.

We need to start treating our own bodies with the same respect we give the kit. Because this work doesn’t just demand physical strength, it demands endurance. Clarity. Focus. Health.

We’ve lost too many good people too soon. Heart attacks in their 50s. Diabetes by 40. Chronic illness that forces retirement before they’re ready. Not because they didn’t work hard, but because they were fuelled by garbage.

This isn’t about vanity or six-packs. It’s about staying alive. It’s about being well enough to enjoy your family at the weekend. It’s about being around long enough to see your kids grow up.

You wouldn’t dump cheap oil in a top-of-the-line machine. So why do it to yourself?

This industry builds everything. Homes. Roads. Stadiums. Skylines. And the people who do it are the toughest, hardest-working, most resilient group you’ll ever meet.

But no matter how strong you are, you’re not indestructible. You’re not a machine. You’re flesh and blood. And if you keep running on fumes, one day your engine will stop.

You deserve better. Real food. Real breaks. Real respect for the fuel that keeps the body going.

Because the machines might be valuable, but the people that operate them are priceless.