So the other night, Husband invited me to this Ocean Film Festival thing. It definitely started out as one of those “I’ll do this with a smile because I love you” things. Husband and I both love the sea, but in different ways. I love being in it, nothing in the world makes me feel better than the ocean. Being able to get in the sea in England tells me when depression season is well and truly over, and I’ll get in a week before all other British people, and still be in it a week after the tourists have gone home. It is practically home, I don’t answer my phone in Winter because I’m hibernating and I don’t answer it in Summer beause I’m swimming.
Husband, on the other hand, is a huge sea nerd. He knows the name of everything in the sea, how many legs it has or has not, what it eats, what it evolved from, and it’s mother’s maiden name. When we watch Attenborough documentaries I often wonder aloud “why is it doing that?” and he has the answer without skipping a beat. It’s adorkable, but I definitely thought the film festival would be “this is a forty minute documentary about the lesser spotted glob fish which eats sand and poops sand , never does anything interesting and is visually disgusting” but actually several of those films changed my damn life.
My favourite was “Sea Gypsies” which featured a bunch of people who love the sea so much that they live in it and live off pasta, and they also helped Sea Shepherd get in the way of some douchebag hunters which was pleasing.
The thing that’s really struck me is how much humans are absolutely ballsing up the ocean every which way. I can’t stop thinking about it , which now, I realise is probably why Husband made me go… bastard.
I’m now terrified of plastic and I want to build my own house out of recycled tyres. It’s really turned my head, to realise that the babyspoons I was fed with in 1990 are still out there somewhere and every bottle of moisturiser I’ve ever used is still in existence (hopefully as a lampshade or something useful). I’m really on one now, the avid recycler has evolved into an actual pixie of the earth. The first thing I did was pretty common sense, I bought myself a reusable water bottle instead of buying a bottle of water every couple of days to refill. My efforts were thwarted however , when I realised firstly, that the bloody thing was plastic (idiot) , which would have been fine as I planned to keep it forever, had it not been for the fact that mould started accumulating around the seal…black mould. FFS.
Anyhoo, back to the drawing board (to avoid wasting paper) .When I think of all the things I’ve bought and replaced over and over again through the years it’s slightly startling. Even with my zero waste policy (which has lead to some fairly peculiar dinners) things like umbrellas, frying pans, schoolbags, even pants are on a pretty endless cycle of re-buying and false economy. And what can you do with an old pair of pants? You might get a couple of years out of them as a duster, but eventually they end up in the bin.
I know I sound like a complete lunatic- you’re probably thinking “why is this fruitcake lecturing me about throwing out my holey drawers” but actually, I reckon I’ve binned about 20 pairs of undercrackers this year. That means everyone in my buildng, altogether, has put 220 pairs of pants into landfill. That’s a duvet worth of pants. So, rounding down and assuming that not everyone has such a happy-go-lucky attitude to binning undergarments as myself, the city of Brighton and Hove disposes of over 5 million pairs of knicknacks per year . That’s over 663018 pounds of underwear.
This is why I’ve seen Harry Potter several thousand times- it’s safe, I don’t get on some wild trip worrying about throwing out a stretched and greying ancient thong. Anyway, the long and short of it is, I am a changed woman and I will be blogging my journey away from life of plastic-y excess , starting with the bathroom. How I’m supposed to get shampoo from shop to house without the use of a bottle I do not know, but stay tuned to find out if I manage it….