The Times Magazine 9Packham explain on Autumnwatch why this is.
Just a heads-up, Chris – we’d all like to know.
Then, this summer, I read about the
Subpod – a compost bin that you bury, in a
border, with a lid on top to chuck in your
scraps. Rat-proof, fox-proof: the urban
gardener’s dream. The average family of four
sends over 1.9kg of compostable waste into
landfill every day; now, this family sends zero.
It’s very satisfying. Ye s, I’ve already wildly
anthropomorphised the composting worms
that arrived in the post: “Worm guys! Heads
up! If you know which end is your head! Old
curry incoming!” Yes, I come back into the
house and say things like, “Hey, worms seem
a bit down. Go easy on them today.” And in
the future, I have amazing compost to look
forward to. But, right now, I’ve reduced my
waste so much that I’m not having to climb
into my wheelie bin on a Tuesday night to
STOMP DOWN all the rubbish – looking like
someone making the world’s most disgusting
artisan bin-wine – and that is the most local
satisfaction of all.- A very menstrual Christmas. It’s hard
to buy stocking fillers for teenage girls – the
little toys and sweets they loved as children
seem no longer appropriate. What to replace
them with? My mum used to put fags in mine
- an adorable family custom/death sentence
I’ve decided to swerve. Instead, this year,
I’ve already got their stocking fillers: on
Christmas Day, they’ll be unwrapping
reusable cotton buds, face wipes and – the
pièce de résistance – sanitary towels! We’re
having a Red Christmas! Baby Jesus is born- and he’s brought with him something to
put in your pants!
It’s amazing how disgusting you think a
reusable sanitary towel is until you actually
use one. Once you have, the idea of going
back to putting used, disposable ones in a bin
suddenly becomes the disgusting thing. And
I have to say, the ones I’ve bought the girls
are... cute? I got Nancy a packet with rainbows
and unicorn prints and Lizzie’s are punk rock.
Again, it’s all about Bin Shame: if you’ve got a
bathroom bin full of disposable cotton buds,
it’s hard not to look at it and see the caption
“The sad contents of a penguin-stomach
autopsy”. Again, it’s win/win for me.
- Cigarette butts. As a pious almost former
smoker – parties where other people are
smoking don’t, obviously, count – I’ve become
a very annoying friend to those who still pay
£47 for a packet of fags. “DON’T THROW
THAT CIGARETTE BUTT ONTO THE
PAVEMENT!” I yell, as they grind the butt
under their shoe. “PUT IT IN A BIN!” This
is all since very effective stencils started
appearing around street drains, showing the
outline of a seahorse and the slogan, “The sea
starts here.” Cigarette butts that end up in
drains end up in the sea. I had not realised
this before. Now, all the fossilised butts on
Rhossili strandline suddenly make sense.
They’re not “mermaids’ tampons” after all. - I’ve changed my search engine. Google
is, well, Google. Ecosia, on the other hand,
does everything Google does, but also plants
trees with its profits – 137 million trees so
far. It shows you the rising total every time
you use it. Maybe I’m simple, but the idea
that I’m improving carbon capture while
typing in “Pictures Mark Ruffalo looking
soulful” is astonishingly pleasing. I’ve greened
my horniness.
- and he’s brought with him something to
And pending... I’ve yet to find an eco washing-
up liquid with the sheer balls to match Big
Pharma river-ruiners. It’s still Fairy or GTFO.
An unwelcome CO 2 calculator that
revealed an oven-baked potato with butter,
cheese and beans is actually as bad for the
environment as steak will, I’m afraid, have to
be ignored. And there’s no two ways about it:
the dog does not like vegetarian dog food.
But otherwise, I think I’m being pretty
environmentally friendly. By which I mean
me-friendly. “Save the me” is the future slogan
Greenpeace should urgently consider. nwith the exception of Jeff Bezos, we’ve all only
got the Earth to live on, and so far no one’s
found an upside to prawns full of microplastics
and the Peak District being on fire every
summer. We should start saying,
“I want to save Norwich. I want the kids to
be able to swim in the river without being
covered in poo. I don’t want my mum to have
an asthma attack every time the air pollution’s
bad. I want to hear dawn choruses again, so
the council need to stop hacking back hedges.”
“Green” issues are only going to become
properly mainstream and “normal” when
everyone starts doing them for selfish reasons.
Like me. I’ve spent the past year really trying
to amp up my “green-ness” – and I’ve done
it all for me. I’ve done it all because I want
Crouch End – and other places that I go to, like
the seaside and the bits of the Peak District
that aren’t on fire – to be better. And so that
when the kids get “all sad” about the future,
I can point at something in their eye line and
go, “Look! We’re doing this! It’s all going to be
fine! Stop going on at me! I’m doing my best!”
Stuff like:- Electric car. Do you know what’s difficult?
Deciding to buy an electric car a) two weeks
after a nationwide petrol shortage, and b) on
the day London’s new ULEZ anti-pollution
charges kicked in – £12.50 a day for our shitty
old Ford Galaxy. Per day. Fair play to Sadiq
Khan, man, but the extension of the ULEZ
certainly got London’s arses into gear. The
Kia showroom in Enfield wasn’t even
bothering to answer the phone – if you
wanted to test-drive an e-Niro, you had
to ring the showroom in Inverness. In 2021,
everyone wants an electric car.
Anyway, we found one, in the end – and
it’s already incredibly soothing to know there
are none of our personal heavy particulates in
N8 any more. Ninety per cent of our car use
is “sitting outside the house with the engine
idling while various teenagers shout, “Does this
coat go with this outfit?” or, “Where are my
tights?” out of the window. Previously, I would
shout, “IT’S YOUR OWN ENVIRONMENTAL
FUTURE YOU’RE WASTING!” while
pointing at the exhaust pipe. Now, I can
revert to the classic, “It’s your own time
you’re wasting.” Back to the good old ways. - The wormery. I have a long and sad history
with compost bins. As a keen gardener, every
few years I’ve attempted a compost bin – only
to find, with unfailing regularity, either a
family of rats living in it or a fox chewing off
the lid and pooing all over it. Urban foxes, I
have noticed, are incredibly skilled at pooing
in very specific, niche places. If you leave a
Croc in the garden, it will poo right in the
middle of it. They can poo onto a crisp packet
or into an ashtray. So far, I’ve never seen Chris
THERE ISN’T AN ECO WASHING-UP LIQUID
WITH THE BALLS TO MATCH BIG PHARMA
RIVER-RUINERS. STILL BUYING FAIRY. SORRY
ALAMY