Blushing Green

We are expecting weekend visitors and it’s bringing me out in a rash. Jenny is an ex BBC colleague and Mark is a barrister. They live in a house on the river in Kew with their two young children. Their children are well behaved and quiet. Their house is new and modern. I fear we will look like a Cumbrian version of The Beverly Hillbillies, and they’ll wish they’d remained in suburbia.

The latest green war to be triggered in the Carbon household is about the kettle, or more specifically the lack of it. I scowl at the flask, sitting on the kitchen surface, an unassuming silvery tube that’s now ruining my life. At the start of every day, Carbonlite boils a full kettle and fills the flask, screwing the lid on tight. All boiling water for cooking or drinking is to come from this flask. The whole process has totally put me off my coffee; practically the only vice I have left.

“I can’t understand why no one has come up with a kettle that’s insulated like a flask,” says Carbonlite as he dunks his biscuit into a flask facilitated cup of tea.
“I can’t understand why anyone bothered to invent a kettle when everyone could have a tepid cup of coffee like this one,” I reply, polishing the unused kettle with a dishcloth and wondering how to sabotage its aluminium partner. Then I catch sight of Carbonlite's frown. “Yes, yes I know. The average person has 4.3 cups of tea a day and if you boil a full kettle for just one mug you can cause up to 8 times the carbon dioxide emissions."I quote the figures without thinking about it. "But see it from my point of view. Im being force fed lukewarm water with a tea bag dipped in 4.3 times a day. It doesn't make for a relaxing tea break. Although there is a plus point to all this. The water is so lukewarm by lunchtime that it doesn’t melt your biscuit when you dunk.”
“No dribbles down my jumper, so no laundry needed either,” says Carbonlite, delighted by his own cleverness.

“There. A nice shiny kettle for Jenny and Mark,” I say deliberately. Carbonlite doesn’t reply so while I’m on a roll, I get in a quick dig about how many of our mugs are chipped and cracked. And unfortunately crockery cracks and colour clashes aren’t restricted to our mugs. Since we started going green, we haven’t replaced any broken china, but simply bought odd pieces from charity shops. Now we have a selection of plates for five, unmatching bowls for four (with cracked glaze) a random drawer of cutlery and thirty chipped mugs.

And as there has also been a ban on buying sheets for several years (“Whats wrong with all those pink stripey ones your Mum gave us?”) making up four extra beds proves a headache. Before long I am shouting at everyone because I can’t find a quilt to match a pillowcase. Then I notice how thin the quilts seem and start shouting at Carbonlite for forcing the kids into inadequately togged bedding. Eventually he storms in and holds the labels up to my nose.
“ A twelve…it’s a twelve…that means it’s a winter quilt, not a summer one. The children are NOT cold at night.”
“Yes we are,” shouts the oldest Carboncopy from his bedroom.
“But not when we have our hot water bottles and our socks on and our blankets,” his brother replies.
“Except when Daddy fills the hot water bottle from the flask,” they cry in unison.

I move on to the next bedroom and stuff a kingsize quilt into a double duvet with blue ink stains on the front. I lie it onto the bed and try to smooth out the creases, wondering if I should explain to Jenny and Mark that I would have done the ironing except it isn’t good for the planet. (The one rule imposed by Carbonlite that made me cheer out loud!) I almost weep as I think of that other world in London that our friends still inhabit; white cotton percale pillows match white cotton percale duvets, people go shopping for garlic presses and fancy bottle openers and kettles aren’t black market goods. As we clean the bathroom in a show of togetherness, I brief my husband on how to treat our guests. “Don’t go on about waste, don’t keep turning the heating off all the time they’re here, and whatever you do make their tea with HOT water.”

I’m interrupted by the sound of a doorbell, and the Carboncopies rush off with Carbonlite following. I clean the toilet and go downstairs to greet my friends. They are standing in the living room shivering.
“It’s cold today,” says Jenny, giving me a hug.
“Never mind,” says Mark. “We’ve a cup of tea on order.”
I can’t face going to check up on Carbonlite. I’ll know from the biscuit dunking whether it’s a flask or a kettle job.