walking the talk

On whim I decide to buy into the Airplot group’s purchase of land near Heathrow to stop the planned new runway from going ahead. It turns out to be surprisingly easy. Much easier than buying a piece of land near Heathrow 20 years ago when we moved to London and couldn’t afford much in the way of property. That purchase, in a run down part of run down Hillingdon cost me £80,000 and took months for solicitors to argue about shared drains and parking. This time I log onto a website, add my details and bingo, I own a few millimetres of West Drayton or Sutton or some other godforsaken village that can’t hear itself think because of increased flights to Heathrow’s other terminals.
Apparently I’m in good company. Environmentalist thesps, members of the mighty Greenpeace, and also quite a few people like me have already signed up, led by Emma Thompson, who, in her own version of Shakespearean prose told Geoff Hoon to “get a grip, Geoff.” Quite right.

While I’m online, I take a peek at the other offerings, and find a campaign to tell Gordon Brown to ‘give coal the boot.’ Well obviously I sign up to that, saying “Get a grip Gordon,” as I click on the button. Perhaps this could become a nifty environmentalist catchphrase that the world could share, a sort of global putdown? If the new American president fails to act on the environment as he has promised, can we all collectively shout at him “Get a grip Barack,” only to find that he springs into eco action?

I enter my details into the boxes designed to help me help Gordon to give coal the boot, but find it isn’t as straightforward as buying Heathrow. It presents me with a map, and asks me to add my footprint to the map. But before that I must choose my shoe. Now choosing shoes is something I’m good at. I come from a long line of women who thrive on choosing shoes. But this isn’t about choosing a fashion statement, a cheap Far East made accessory to be thrown away after a few wears. This is about declaring who I am. My personal shoe identity, with my first name and postcode attached, to be left for all time on the footprint map of the Greenpeace website. The choices are stark. I can be a sandal. Or a cowboy boot. A cowboy boot? Or an army boot. Or a kitten heel. Or a loafer. Or a flip flop. Oh God. What am I?
I should be a welly boot but I don’t want to be. I’d like to be a kitten heel, but if I’m honest I’m not. I can’t even walk in them, let alone stamp out global warming with them. I toy with being a cowboy boot as an ironic feminist statement, but in the end go barefoot. Probably a classic cop out on the Greenpeace shoe labelling front, but at least it doesn’t tie me into in any particular decade, gender or fashion. And if Carbonlite reads it, he might feel guilty about not buying me those M and S slippers for Christmas. I take a look at what everyone else from Cumbria has put in. There’s a few wellies, a couple of sandals and some very uninspiring loafers. And quite a few have opted for the barefoot option. Thankfully there’s no cowboy boots in my neighbourhood. A cowboy boot-wearing environmental activist on your doorstep would frankly be quite scary.

When Carbonlite comes home, I tell him about my new purchase of terminal busting land.
“Good,” he says, picking up the paper.
“Just Good? This is a legal document, like a house purchase you know. I could be summonsed. To appear. At a big enquiry or something,“ I cry. He continues reading the paper. “And I’ may have to turn up barefoot,” I carry on, “Because that’s what I signed up to do on the “Get a grip Gordon carbon coal campaign. And as everyone else from round here will be there in their wellies and loafers, I’ll have to watch my toes.” My husband nods his approval, still reading the paper.
“You haven’t even asked what it cost,” I shout. “To buy Heathrow.”
He finally looks up, “Well? How much did it cost?”
“It was free,” I reply sheepishly.
He goes back to the paper. I stomp out of the room.
“But there may be some costs to follow,” I mutter, wondering if there is such a thing as an environmentally friendly brand new pair of kitten heels.”