Eco-Glasto and Boomers

          On the way to the barber’s, I stopped for a coffee at a hip, right-on establishment (shipping container, cool young staff, precious blends, cashless till) and marvelled, silently, that they were still offering take-outs in disposable cups. Not very right-on, really, but I suppose we have become so used to convenience that weaning will take a while. And as for the inconvenience of cleaning up the environment after us, well, that would be someone else’s problem. I am myself not blameless of eco-unfriendly behaviour, modify it as I might. But, as a child of the 1950s, I was a late adopter of the disposable culture: the very idea of ‘disposable’ was anathema to us, raised as we were in an era of sock-darning thrift. Consequently, I am pre-disposed to renounce any over-consuming habits I have fallen into since.

          Still, the coffee was good and I recommended it to the barber, a thrifty type himself, who works alone, in shabby, low-rent premises. He was dismissive, however, because he only deals in cash. “Can’t even get a pint at the bar ‘round the corner now. It’s all going cashless,” he complained (again). I suspect his boycott of credit cards has something to do with the taxable status of his business model, but was unwilling to raise the subject for fear of getting a botched haircut. Instead, we talked about Glastonbury which was about to kick off. He said he would love to go once in his lifetime (he is pushing fifty) but that the timing is never right. The end of the month, when people get paid, is his busiest period and he must fill his pockets while he can. I turned the conversation to the burgeoning culture of eco-awareness that is now festival-culture norm, but he did not respond. His thriftiness, I think, is centred more on himself than the needs of society.

          Of course, it is easy to be lulled, day-to-day, into thinking that there is no imminent danger to humanity of eco-disaster. This week, I watered my brightly blooming potted plants prior to a brief absence, then drove (I know) for four hours through the green heart of England, savouring the long, lingering June evening as I bowled along tree-lined roads towards Salisbury, the centre of which is a picture of prosperity and quaint heritage. I think of it as www (wealthywhitewestern). salisbury.co.uk – a place that is protected by the status of its 13^th century cathedral and the land-owning family of Marquises associated with its establishment. A quick foray around the centre – dodging the clusters of guided tourists – reveals none of the high-street malaise that afflicts so many other towns of similar size. Smug complacency is in the air, as if change will not be happening here.

          Contrast this to Liverpool, another city I visited last week, where despite two cathedrals and a magnificent collection of architecturally impressive and historically important secular buildings, its essence is far from staid. Edgy would be a better description. In part, this may be due to the long-standing dominance of the working-class population and to the university students who now contribute substantially to both the economy and the culture. Indeed, one of my nephews is studying there and is enrolled on a course that promotes and encourages the ethos of eco-business.

          Meanwhile, back at home, living a reasonably frugal lifestyle that is not too greedy of resources, I looked forward to a simple lunch of tinned sardines in tomato sauce, mopped up with wholemeal sourdough and washed down with sencha green tea. I was disappointed to find that there was no tomato sauce in the tin and spent my meal-break trying to work out how this had come about. What comes first in the process – the labelling or the sauce? But I did get some satisfaction from lobbing the empty tin into the recycling bin.