The kind of fatter than necessitates new trousers. As usual, this has set off vicious internal arguments. My managing parts resolve to give up sugar as soon as I’m back from holiday. My bingeing parts make me eat three cakes on the journey home whilst I still can. My critical parts yell that I’m weak-willed
Recently I had a conversation with a man who was used to holding power. He’d worked hard all his life, managing huge sections of the civil service and moving in high political circles. He said that he believed in democracy, and that this was the only way to tackle the climate crisis. His version of
I am tired. I’m one of the good guys already. I don’t want to use the wrong words and be judged. I don’t want to take up space. I don’t want to crash into any more pockets of shame, anger or despair. I’m afraid of what I’ll find inside me. Darling Earth, we all knelt
Ralph came to live with us a fortnight ago. Our dog Aiko loves other dogs whenever we meet them when we’re out, and I hadn’t quite appreciated how it might be for her to have a new sibling. Someone who takes her toys from her mouth. Someone who runs to meet and greet us first.
I see our vegetable patch, through my office window. There are our month-old seedlings – courgettes, kale, cauliflower, cucumber, squash. Ruffled green sprigs of potato leaves have poked their way up through the earth. There is flimsy lettuce, just-germinated chard, and a self-seeded marigold which has been socking us in the eye with luminous orange
Before getting our first dog, I asked everyone I met about dog-cat relationships. How would our cats cope with a new puppy? What could we do to make it easier for them? I bought a huge cat tree, I read up on all the training techniques, and our ball of puppy-fluff finally arrived. Aiko loved
A new virus has made itself at home inside us, darling Earth. It is creating heavy work for us – practical, financial, political. It is killing those who are vulnerable. Many of us are frightened. When we are frightened, we do what our systems know how to do. For some of us, we hide under
Yesterday I was filmed for a Dutch programme about Extinction Rebellion. One of the questions Wouter asked me was, ‘who are you writing to?’. It’s an interesting question. Are you a figment of my imagination, sweet Earth? Am I talking to myself? My vague answer to him (a deity, a living organism, infinite complexity and