waste


A couple of days ago, a man with a tousled mop of hair, a paunch and a beard knocked on my door. I had never met him before, but without any questions I handed Manu — for that was his name — a perfectly functional Freeview box that the efreaks no longer needed. He smiled, thanked me and headed off into the night…

No, I said Freegle

This was my first experience of Freegling. Using Freegle is beautifully simple. If you have something you are keen to get rid of but don’t want to dump it at the tip, you pop the details on a website. Other people who live near you see it online and, if they want it, drop you an email and arrange to pick it up. I had 20 emails within two days for the Freeview box (remote control included). Alan wanted it for more channel choice during the World Cup. Kati wanted it because her’s had broken down and the kids were pestering her to watch TV during half term. Rowan definitely wanted it, although he wasn’t sure how it worked. In the end, I plumped for Manu simply because he was the first person to email me (about an hour after I posted it) — but apparently in Freegle etiquette, you can choose whoever you like to give it to.

We have an increasing problem with waste in the UK, as landfills are filling up fast. Of course, the best thing to do to help is stop buying stuff you don’t need. But before you throw away the 18th candlestick holder you got as an engagement present, think about whether some poor sucker who (more…)

“I am having a bit of trouble with my wormery. Any advice?” I sheepishly asked a woman setting out a row of giveaway seeds and leaflets in Finsbury Park. A more accurate question would have been: “All the worms in my wormery have died. Do I need some more worms, or can I just turn it into a compost pot?” But I stuck with the first, I-do-not-want-to-appear-completely-useless question.

Worms not included... anymore.

“Yes,” she replied, not pausing from her aggressive leaflet arrangement. “Release all your worms into the soil and start a compost instead.” I got the impression she strongly disapproved of wormeries. “But I live in a flat,” I mumbled, “And the wormery is the only place where I can get rid of my food waste.”

“Well, they probably got too cold during the winter. You have to treat them like any other pet,” she said, still giving the impression she could not believe that any right-thinking person one would keep anything as cruel as a worm zoo. [in my defence, I did worry about my worms and brought the wormery inside during the cold snap. The worms repaid my kindness by escaping all over the carpet.] Afraid of another worm-based dressing down, I decided that perhaps I was not going to get the answers I craved and retired quietly, but slightly bruised, to the queue for the free compost.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how I now spend my weekends, queueing up for free compost in Finsbury Park. It is a rather brilliant scheme. Haringey Council collect all the food and garden (more…)

I used to lay tarmac. When I say “used to”, I mean for a few hours of my life, a friend and I earned some honest money helping some bloke with a van tarmac people’s drives on a road in Kenilworth. This one short afternoon of proper labour was memorable for two reasons:

uk_to_europe.1169303400.kenilworth_castle

Kenilworth: Better than Warwick

1. My friend, whose job was to roll the tarmac flat, was wearing a pair of Nike trainers and not completely flat shoes (as you may guess, we had no idea what we were doing). As a result, the Nike swoosh was imprinted thousands of times on every drive we covered.

2. Getting people to pay through the nose to tarmac their driveway is easy. All you have to do is convince one person on a street to do it, then the entire neighbourhood is begging you to smooth over their now very-shabby-looking-in-comparison parking spaces.

So how can you harness such suburban petty jealousy when you are trying to convince people to live greener lifestyles? Kate Mackenzie, who blogs about energy for the FT, highlights a recent (more…)

Not a day goes by without some person who writes in fewer than 140 characters claiming, often without proper punctuation, that he has changed the world. Twitter beats mainstream media to break earthquake news. Twitter helps Iran move towards democracy. Twitter helps cure RSI by cutting keyboard minutes (I made that one up). Now Twitter has helped save freedom of speech in the UK from an onslaught from the legal profession. Not bad for a service that also breaks news such as someone I have never met has just had a quite nice bus ride to Beaconsfield…

What's the Italian for polluter pays?

What's the Italian for polluter pays?

This latest fuss is about an appalling pollution case. In 2006, an oil trading company called Trafigura bought a load of very cheap oil, but could not work out how to get rid of the toxic waste from it (perhaps why it was very cheap). They tried to dump it in Holland, but were rebuffed by some tulip-loving Korfballers. Then some bright spark chose to dump it in that bastion of environmental regulation, the Ivory Coast. Apparently, and this is too good to be true, some bloke called “Tommy” said “No problemo, bung us a few quid and we will clean it up” despite having no expertise, equipment or idea (see brilliant Guardian report from earlier this year and other more recent reports with leaked documents/emails).

Perhaps not trusting the Ivorian legal system, a group of 30,000 people whose health has suffered because of the dumping are bringing a class action suit in London against Trafigura. At the same time, Trafigura have hired the most (more…)

Could there be a more exciting topic for the ex-expat than the seismic shifts that have taken place in Britain’s attitude to municipal waste over the past few years? “I doubt it,” you are no doubt chanting in unison. Since his recent re-embrace of the motherland after three years sucking the proverbial and literal juice out of the xiao long bao of China, efreak has been warmed by some of the transformations in Blighty. While others here wallow in the short-term seduction of a national football team destined to raise then quickly dash expectations, rubbish has warmed my drizzle-soaked soul since I left the Fragrant Harbour.

Not in my backyard, thanks

Not in my backyard, thanks

Required to clear out part of the efreak property empire, I made every effort to ensure the collected flotsam would not end up in landfill, a task that would have been Herculean only a few years ago. Using principles pillaged from the waste-haters bible Cradle to Cradle, I concentrated on re-use before recycling. After a quick Google about, I found the Ladywood Furniture Project, who came and picked up my unwanted bed bases, sofas and tables. Apart from providing a free service and jobs for two lovely workers to clear the house, they also scooped up a load of unwanted cutlery. All the stuff they gather is given away, at a small price, to disadvantaged families in one of the most deprived parts of the country (although in a complete inversion of the theory “beggars can’t be choosers”, they did refuse to take a slightly stained red sofa)…

(more…)

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