Thursday, January 28, 2010
Bus or car? It's all a blur and I've got a headache
If the answer's yes, then, you would think, environmentalists would say catch the bus instead; you don't have to spend a penny on your premium, get to catch up on world affairs, listen to your iPod or do some serious reading while you travel - who knows, you might even find yourself sitting next to the person who'll become the love of your life - all while helping save the world by reducing your carbon footprint, right?
Well, wrong. The answer to the question is actually so entwined with mind-boggling variables that it places us all at the bewildering centre of a complex moral maze.
The answer would be beautifully simple, if only, yes, if only we were all catching buses that were running at capacity.
But as it is, the average UK bus only carries nine passengers; meaning that, per person, a car carrying two people actually has less of a carbon footprint than the typical bus. Even in London, our great bustling capital, the average bus carries only thirteen passengers.
And, although you might think this would at least settle the question for those travelling in groups of two or more in areas where buses are usually low on passengers, think again.
The bus is already running, so it is therefore the utilitarian option: you may not be reducing your personal carbon footprint, but you'll be reducing that of the world, however infinitesimally.
But by using the same argument with planes, the scale and complexity of the moral maze just intensifies. The plane is already running, right, so what's the harm in getting it?
Come Monday morning and faced with question of whether I'm going to catch the bus or drive to work - it's too far for me to walk and too dangerous a route to cycle - I think I might just sit at the breakfast table, staring blankly ahead, paralysed by the this grave and knotted moral question. I just hope the boss understands...
Image © markhillary via Flickr, under Creative Commons Licence
Friday, January 8, 2010
The whole world turned to hummus
Happy New Year everyone and good luck with all your New Year resolutions!
This year mine is typically ambitious. Last year it was to live everyday as if it were my last, which, inevitably (I wish I'd really thought it through) was always going to be fraught with all kinds of problems.
Not only did it mean that I frequently woke in the grips of a vice-like hangover ("Why worry about tomorrow?"), it also meant that I failed to make any real long term plans, refusing to pencil anything significant into my diary on the grounds that it was too restrictive - after all, one doesn't want to spend one's last day discussing tax returns with the accountant.
Perhaps I'm too reactionary a personality and this explains why this year my resolution is to slowly and steadily build for the future.
Until today this was going very well, then I made the mistake of turning the radio on to hear that our planet is due to be "wiped out" by a giant supernova explosion, which has had the effect of making my resolution seem just a little bit futile really.
Apparently there is a star called T Pyxidis 3,260 light years away (no, not far away enough, unfortunately) that is due to erupt with the power of 20 billion billion billion megatons of TNT; it's clearly not going to be enough to just don your bicycle helmet and hide behind the sofa.
Scandalously, the newsreader didn't specify exactly when this irredeemable and cataclysmic event is due to happen but he did turn to the next news item: "And on a more positive note, an Arab-Israeli team have announced plans to create the world's largest hummus dish and will be pulverising an amazing 4,000 kg of chickpeas in the process…"
Image © guijarro85 via Flickr, under Creative Commons Licence
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
What Christmas is all about
Ah, Christmas, the time of the year when families across the country come together in order to remind themselves why they spend the rest of the year living apart.
It's a time for reminiscence as, prompted by all kinds of ingrained and regressive familial dynamics, we close our bedroom doors and vociferously tell our partners exactly how badly our brothers and sisters used to treat us, how selfish they are, and recall in painstaking detail every parental deficiency in our mothers and fathers.
It's a time for travel. For getting stuck in awful traffic, then having our cars break down on a deserted A-road, leaving us to marvel at the never-ending expanse of snow-clad winter wonderland.
It's a time for exercise as we carry armfuls of flimsy and inadequate bags from door to door, anxiously watching them break apart and tear, leaving a trail of soon to be unappreciated presents.
It's a time for children. As they taste that first chocolate coin on Christmas morning and scoff their ways through trifles, biscuits, crisps, sweets and Christmas puddings until they're so overwrought with e-numbers that we simply give up and slump defeatedly on armchairs in front of the television.
It's also a time for partners and lovers, who, neurotically trying to be polite to the family members they've spent their lives trying to get away from, come bedtime close the doors and eventually take it all out on each other.
But above all, it's a time for love, for shops all around the UK to love the money we give them as we buy overpriced presents that will, for the most part, be forgotten.
Yes, Happy Christmas to one and all.
It's a time for reminiscence as, prompted by all kinds of ingrained and regressive familial dynamics, we close our bedroom doors and vociferously tell our partners exactly how badly our brothers and sisters used to treat us, how selfish they are, and recall in painstaking detail every parental deficiency in our mothers and fathers.
It's a time for travel. For getting stuck in awful traffic, then having our cars break down on a deserted A-road, leaving us to marvel at the never-ending expanse of snow-clad winter wonderland.
It's a time for exercise as we carry armfuls of flimsy and inadequate bags from door to door, anxiously watching them break apart and tear, leaving a trail of soon to be unappreciated presents.
It's a time for children. As they taste that first chocolate coin on Christmas morning and scoff their ways through trifles, biscuits, crisps, sweets and Christmas puddings until they're so overwrought with e-numbers that we simply give up and slump defeatedly on armchairs in front of the television.
It's also a time for partners and lovers, who, neurotically trying to be polite to the family members they've spent their lives trying to get away from, come bedtime close the doors and eventually take it all out on each other.
But above all, it's a time for love, for shops all around the UK to love the money we give them as we buy overpriced presents that will, for the most part, be forgotten.
Yes, Happy Christmas to one and all.