Carbon Footprint

As an irredeemably middle class, lefty, Guardian reading, organic humous eating ponce I tacitly 'care' about my carbon footprint.

Until this year, I hadn't flown for 3 years and revelled in it, not as a sign of bitter student poverty, but as a faintly holier-than-thou stick with which to beat others. "Well, of course, I take holidays in Britain" I would say, neglecting to mention my previous globe hopping, petulant girlfriend who steadfastly refused to run off to Rome with me, or long list of places I would be flying to the instant I had any spare cash.

This year, I've taken 9 short haul flights already, with at least 3 more, plus two trans-atlantic, before the end of July. I think it's fair to say I've done more than my share of fucking up the globe. But, with yet another ominous report in today's Observer saying, and I paraphrase, "We're never going to hit a target of a 2 degree rise in global temperatures, it'll be more like 4.8, and frankly that's a bit conservative, but that's no reason to stop trying", there's a strong temptation to think "fuck the next generation, let's enjoy the end of days now, before fuel costs more than gold and we're all eating Soylent Green in eco-highrises on top of Yorkshire fells".

I've re-discovered my love of solo travel. The opertunity to be alone with your thoughts, the endless parade of the dispossed, the idealistic and the downright fruitloop you meet, a different hostel every night, a new country every few days, drinking alone, writing in a notebook, and not giving a shit who stares at you. It's a wonderful thing, and I don't know why it scares so many people. Paul Theroux (a man whose curiosity is matched only by his boundless grumpiness) describes it as a "masochistic pleasure" that draws writers because they're at heart solitary, introspective and antisocial creatures.

I can't say I disagree, and who doesn't like a little masochism, now and again.

And, as a coda to that, I've got 18 days left in Bra (which will be a hellish death march) then it's back out into the unknown. I have no idea what will happen this year, or where the hell I'll be next June, but for the first time in year's I'm excited about the future. I don't know what's going to happen, whether wonderful things will work out, or if I'll end up toasting a lonely new year in some remote outpost, but it's going to be fun finding out.