Bubble Bursting

          So, we’re in Glasgow for the two-week duration of COP 26, the latest of the United Nations’ climate emergency conferences – not because we’ve been invited, but because we haven’t. Climate disaster will affect everyone eventually and the outcome of the talks is too important to be left to national figureheads, who are not renowned for their selfless devotion to humanity’s welfare. A show of concern by the public – a metaphorical ‘kicking of arses’ – and the ensuing spotlight of publicity might lead to some progress in this respect.

          Not that “the public” includes everyone. When, for example, I told one of our neighbours back home where we were bound, he admitted to having no idea what I was talking about, despite the acres of news coverage that had preceded the event. On the other hand, he does know everything there is to know about home improvements, a pursuit to which he dedicates most of his days, despite the fact that our block is less than a metre above sea level. A flicker of dismay came over his face as I explained to him the potential futility of his activities. “But that won’t happen in our lifetime, will it?”, he said, hopefully. I shrugged, meaningfully.

          The phrase ‘living in a bubble’ has gained another meaning during this time of viral contagion, but its original definition remains: the tendency to live one’s life unaware of and unaffected by the lives of others. This is not a socially healthy trait but, for those who want it, corrective therapy is at hand. The recommended remedy for this self-isolating tendency is to experience the diversity of customs, philosophies and social norms by travelling (excluding via cruise ships, that is). Young people usually need no encouragement to set off on such journeys of exploration, but enthusiasm tends to wane in later life. We can become set in our ways too easily, so it is well to be reminded that ours is not the definitive point of view – and that neither is anyone else’s.

          Glasgow is a long way from Plymouth and, despite the shared attributes of a United Kingdom – currency, language and general customs – I was delighted to find on arrival that it maintains an individual and distinctive flavour. The grimy but grand stone buildings are currently basking in winter sunshine and the ambience on the streets is friendly. Ask for directions and you will get a fully engaged response and, though people for whom English is a foreign language might struggle to follow the pronunciation, patience is not strained. In fact, I overheard a shopkeeper criticise Boris Johnson’s speech for its conspicuously forced use of non-inclusive cultural metaphors that are inconsiderate of non-English speakers. Basically, the natives seem friendly and welcoming of the delegates, whether they are official or self-appointed, which I choose to interpret as a signal of solidarity from the denizens of this proudly socialist city.

          We are staying in a suburb that is well connected by train to the city centre. Having booked the apartment online months ago, before prices rocketed beyond our budget, we feel lucky to have it and are, therefore, tolerant of its shortcomings (it has obviously been fitted out by a less than competent DIY enthusiast). We also feel a bit guilty that delegations from small, sinking islands in the Pacific may be having to commute from Aberdeen each day. Still, for all those who made it, the hope is that being here does make a difference to the progress of discussions. The wondrous technology of video conferencing cannot yet convey all the subtleties of face-to-face interactions. The demonstrators on the streets may be limited to making a nuisance and holding their banners up to passing motorcades, but they are engaging with the process and pressing against a system that is presently on course to self-destruct. Their message is simple. We may live in many, separate bubbles, but they all co-exist within the Big One, Earth.