Miranda could really use some help herding her bees in FarmVille!

Not exactly true, though I do have a bee in my bonnet about this game (and I use the term lightly).

 

As far as I can tell, you pay real money for imaginary strawberry seeds (for instance) which you plant and then must harvest exactly 4 hours later or they'll wither on the vine – along with your imagination, social life, will to live, etc...

 

Get real folks. Specifically, take a look at the Campaign for Real Farming (my Website of the Week this week).

 

I know, it's an addiction (hey, we all have them), and one should feel pity for FarmVille-ians – if not the FarmVillains who are (pardon pun) raking it in. Still, sometimes I just want to shake them (or at least take them outside for some fresh air).

As of today, Britain's 18-month recession is officially over. Time to crack open the champers and... what's that... you're still feeling the pinch? Official statistics don't necessarily mean more cash in your purse this morning.

 

If the pressure's still on (not least with grocery bills) why not go green in the kitchen by using food past its 'Best Before' date? I don't mean the green of mould: 'Best Before' dates are not the same as 'Use By' dates (see the UK Food Standards Agency's guidelines).

 

Approved Food (my Website of the Week this week) sells products past their 'Best Before' dates plus clearance stock that's been discontinued or is in 'outdated' packaging. This keeps perfectly good food out of landfill (and saves you a packet in the bargain).

 

They seem to stock lots of junk food, but I hope I can trust you to go easy on the fizzy drinks and Curly Wurlys. On second thought, after the disastrous Cadbury takeover by Kraft, Curly Wurly fans may as well help themselves while they can!

 

For earth-kind furniture, try 'upcycling'. Upcycling ranges from the DIY version (find an abandoned chair or table, give it a lick of paint and voilà!) to today's more upmarket upcycling companies, such as Urban Upholstery, Le Tramac,  Burke & Hazelden, Reestore and the spectacular Jimmie Martin, my Favourite Find for January. 

Happy 2010! I hope it's a better year for you than for Texaco (or its owners, Chevron). Texaco's on tenterhooks waiting to hear if it'll have to shell out (no pun intended) up to $27billion in damages in the biggest environmental lawsuit in history. Texaco is charged with polluting northeastern Ecuador for 23 years through 'reckless' oil exploration and toxic oil waste. This hasn't extinguished Texaco/Chevron's passion for exploration: they've announced a $21.6 billion capital and exploratory spending programme for 2010. Perhaps a good New Year's resolution is to check your investment portfolio and excise Exxon and similar.

 

If any of you suspect this was just a sneaky ploy to share a Rickie Lee Jones video, I'd prefer you think of it as a late Christmas present or a goodwill gesture for the new decade....

 

"Do you know how to darn?" asked my husband.

"I am from America – we don't even know the meaning of the word!" I replied indignantly (I thought he wanted me to mend a pair of socks for him; hrmph!). The post-war experience was different in the US, so the 'Mend and Make Do' culture never really caught on. Everyone was encouraged to forget about SIY (sew it yourself) and mending had a faintly embarrassing whiff about it.

 

I did feel a bit guilty (EcoManiac, what EcoManiac?) so did endeavor to mend holes in the toes of two pairs of children's tights. Grandma (who's much more practical than I) gave my daughter a knitting doll and a big box of yarn for Christmas, so maybe she and I can learn the basics together. Yet another resolution for 2010 – though I'm sticking with iron-on tape instead of 'proper' hemming (don't forget the 'Accidental'...)

Many of us will be pinching pennies again this year, but there's no need for you to play Scroogey Grinch Pants in the Christmas panto. Check out my eco-friendly (and often economical) gift ideas in this month's Favourite Find section. One tasty idea: bake your own, but don't bother unless you're making double batches – once you smell them baking, you'll simply have to sample a few (call it 'quality control'; the pre-Christmas crunch is no time for self-denial). I'm making my Dad's famous ginger snaps again this year. Get in touch if you want the recipe, but be warned: they're shockingly moreish (better make that a triple batch).

Another tip: support UK craftspeople by shopping at Christmas markets. I'll be at the Pullens Yards open days this Saturday and Sunday. The cobbled streets of Iliffe Yard, Peacock Yard and Clements Yard are home to a collection of fabulous artists and craftspeople (and the odd copywriter...). It's the perfect place to pick up beautifully crafted gifts: colourful cups and saucers from potter Viktoria Redman, a gorgeous wrap or skirt from Linda Brooker of L'Atelier de Couture, unique jewellery, distinctive photographs and more (you can even buy a hand-crafted lute!).

 

I'll also be heading to Hidden Art Open Studios this weekend, to see amazing artists including Madeleine Boulesteix with her one-of-a-kind chandeliers. We're market-obsessed this year, even catching the Eurostar to Antwerp mid-December for the Christmas markets there. Can I make it through December without hitting the high street? Fingers crossed...

 

And if anyone's remotely interested, what I really want for Christmas this year is this 'make tea not war' wall hanging from HunkyDory Home to hang in my office. If it's not under the tree, I'm buying it for myself come January.

 

 

 

I was fairly blasé about the upcoming EU ban on incandescent bulbs, but now I 'm incandescent with rage. Can anyone explain the logic: I can legally fly to the other side of the planet, spewing carbon all the way but I cannot buy my child an Easy-Bake Oven for Christmas (not even an oh-so-eco second-hand one from eBay). Well, I could, but it would be a total waste of money and time. The oven cooks with the heat of a single, old-fashioned light bulb, and come January those will be like gold dust. Eco bulbs are so cool, you'd be waiting weeks for your teensy sponge cake to rise.

 

So my children won't have the same vanilla-scented memories I have of baking cakes (sans adult help) in my friend Dorothy's Easy-Bake. I am slightly less upset now I see the current models are shaped like microwaves and instead of plain mixes they're all branded up: Dora the Explorer Cinnamon Sticks, My Little Pony Cutie Cookies and SpongeBob SquarePants Krabby Patties. Bleurgh – it's enough to turn your stomach.

I got in touch with my roots this weekend in my new allotment. Day 1 started well. The plot was totally overgrown, so we set to work weeding (despite having no gloves or proper tools – good thing I'm not fussy about manicures). Things progressed smoothly until I 'weeded' an iris bulb and a patch of chives. Oops – I'm going to need professional help, at least in the form of some guidebooks.

Seems Michelle Obama isn't having the same growing pains. The First Lady's harvesting vegetables from the White House Kitchen Garden to serve at the first official state dinner tonight, in honour of India's prime minister, Manmohan Singh. Of course if they're serving veg curry for the expected 400 guests, they're surely going to have to supplement their own plot's harvest with something from the shops. My own plot is teeny in comparison [the one below is from my Website of the Week, the National Society of Allotment & Leisure Gardeners, who can help you set up an allotment scheme] but it's more than enough for novices like us.

 

Of course, Michelle also has staff to help, which isn't really an option for me – unless you count the children with their countless trips to and from the water butt (more than a bit unnecessary after last week's torrential rainfall but one must be encouraging). Perhaps I should ask a friend to join in an unofficial sharecropping venture, but that's probably a contravention of our allotment scheme's constitution and I don't want to lose the plot.

 

 

 

Everyone in green land has been trying to get me excited about the 2009 Miss Earth beauty pageant. Well, I tried, guys, but I just don't get it.  

 

Oh I see. Sometimes while in swimsuits, contestants hold up placards encouraging us to recycle, buy organic, etc. Perhaps we're more likely to take heed when the green message is delivered with a naughty pout, a saucy saunter and plenty of exposed flesh?

 

Speaking of flesh, it seems several contestants (despite being green) aren't really into the natural look. Perhaps the placard should read 'Support people made out of indigenous materials', rather than 'products'. After all, silicone doesn't really come as standard with a human body, though implants are renewable, I suppose (as Katie Price finds every year or two) so long as you're willing to shell out a few thou and go under the knife again.

 

So how does the Miss Earth competition work? Each year, 80 to 90 candidates from around the world fly (come on, did you really expect them to catch the train?) to some exotic locale and compete on knowledge of environmental issues and err... beauty. They don't prepare simply by expanding their fake tan and waxing regimens; they also take part in eco-related projects such as environmental awareness campaigns, litter collection and tree planting.

 

You may be thinking I'm just an envious and bitter old bat, but my philosophical objection to beauty pageants was forged long ago in the crucible of the Miss America (and Little Miss America) pageants. Lord no, I wasn't a contestant, just the accompanist for several (ill-fated) wannabee beauty queens in the local heats. One was named Happiness but believe me, she wasn't smiling when another seven-year-old won. In fact, she was sobbing hysterically, as were the 10 other little losers.

 

Excuse me for expecting better from the green movement. I thought it was about humanity and yes, feminism, at least as that relates to helping exploited and disadvantaged women worldwide have a fairer shake at natural resources, equality and liberty.

 

Of course, liberty means freedom to choose, so if you'd like to compete in the 2010 Miss Earth competition in the UK, and you're green, glam and of course, gorgeous be my guest. If you don't 'qualify' but still long for a sash, you might have to specialise a bit. A friend of mine was Mr Deaf Gay Leather Miami, so I'm sure there's a title out there for you – and for me. This month I quite fancy  Miss 'Ms Disgruntled of London 2009'. Too generic? Fancy challenging me to the crown?

 

If there's a talent segment, I'll be singing Ani DiFranco's Not a pretty girl:
 
   I am not a pretty girl

   That's not what I do
   I ain't no damsel in distress
   And I don't need to be rescued
   So put me down punk
   Wouldn't you prefer a maiden fair
   Isn't there a kitten 
   Stuck up a tree somewhere?...

   And what if there are
   No damsels in distress?
   What if I knew that
   And I called your bluff?
   Don't you think every kitten 
   Figures out how to get down
   Whether or not you ever show up

 

 

As Ms DiFranco says, "I have earned my disillusionment".

After three years of plaintive pleas, we have an allotment. OK, half an allotment, but it's probably enough for novices like me to be getting on with. The excitement makes me recall my first crush, Dickon – or in fact Tasha Tudor's little pencil sketch of him, all careless hair and fresh air.

 

My children will be getting more fresh air (and we can tackle that minibeast phobia with gusto) once we start planting... or is it weeding at this time of year? I'm a little sketchy on details.

 

Still, my favourite benefit from our allotment (aside from home-grown potatoes, the bastion of black-thumbed gardeners everywhere) is that I can move my wormery from the back patio to our little patch around the corner. I know ecomaniacs are supposed to be gaga over the little wrigglers, but my personal worm saga has been no love story. Don't forget the [Accidental] bit, eh?

 

"An allotment! Oooh, you can buy yourself some wellies," my best friend suggested. (Are we townies or what?) I'll be dropping off the kitchen scraps on the walk to school, but if you spy me in pink wellies on the school run, feel free to sniff in a haughty manner. At least I got a jolly new 'Planted a garden' stamp (a bit prematurely) in my Hopenhagen Passport on Facebook. Maybe it's time I stopped being snarky about people and their aquarium, farm or mafia Facebook apps...

I've been watching Last Chance to See, the BBC's provocative series about endangered animals – and not just because Stephen Fry's number three on my gay crush list. I realise he's an unconventional choice, but many ladies do prefer someone who can entertain before and after the fireworks as well. You may find number one a more obvious pick: Rupert Everett (or as I like to call him, 'Rupert Everest' – after all, I'm equally unlikely to conquer either).

Errr... back to the show. I don't just watch to pine over Stephen. The animals are simply breathtaking – if you fancy drinking games, try knocking one back each time Stephen murmurs "Extraordinary!" – as is the knowledge we're wiping these animals off the planet lickety-split.

 

I suppose I should have illustrated this post with a picture of a manatee instead of so much male flesh, but this is my website (until Google buys me out along with every other company on earth) so I have full creative control. And frankly, manatees kind of give me the creeps (though I fully support their right to exist).

 

I once saw a manatee up close and personal, when I was sailing in Miami's Biscayne Bay, just behind Madonna's old house. Before you go thinking 'How glam!' let me explain that my friend and I ran aground in his tiny boat, and it took half an hour of rocking back and forth and jumping overboard to dislodge ourselves from the sandbar. The manatee didn't look particularly impressed (neither did the locals). Still, manatees are such gentle giants... OK, manatee lovers, here you go. Satisfied? (Next time maybe you'll trust my judgment).

 

The next episode of Last Chance to See: A Search For Animals on the Edge of Extinction is on BBC ONE on 28th of October (at 1 in the morning!) or watch it at a civilised time with iPlayer. The shows are on for a limited time, so don't delay. I'm obliged to mention here that Stephen co-hosts the series with zoologist Mark Carwadine, who is also excellent.
  

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Some politicians are Teflon-coated – others are magnets. Unfortunately for Gordon Brown he's a magnet, a veritable merde magnet. When the doggy doo of doom is steaming on the pavement of life, Mr. Brown's boots make a beeline for it. When the seagull of scandal swoops through the sky, Gordon is sure to get slimed.

 

You can't hunker in your bunker when you're a magnet.
Part of the problem is psychological – you have to believe you're up to the job. During my career as a teenage shortstop, I suffered a crisis of confidence one season. My coach told me I must actively wish for every ball to come my way, instead of dreading it. Otherwise, you move backwards (or close your eyes) and the ball flies past (or through your legs – the ultimate humiliation). 

Yesterday Gordon stopped hiding and bravely stepped up to the plate (finally this metaphor is almost relevant in a UK media outlet!), taking a real stand in warning about global warming. He says Copenhagen climate talks are the 'last chance'. "We cannot compromise with the catastrophe of unchecked climate change," he warned a group of environment ministers in London. The government of the Maldives would support that claim. Its leaders highlighted the real and present danger climate change poses to their country by staging an underwater cabinet meeting.

 

In a stroke of good timing (not usually Gordon's strong suit), it's also Energy Saving Week. Now that there's a nip in the air, it's up to all of us to watch the thermostat and keep our energy levels down. Let me rephrase that: keep your personal energy level up, but your electricity and gas usage down. And yes, I do mean fewer car journeys (perhaps it's time to take another look at car clubs, which I highly recommend!). You could also take a closer look at my Website of the Week this week, the Energy Saving Trust's Climate Change Academies (and no, snarky one, it's not where you learn how to make climate change happen even faster.)   Share

My best friend in London is a psychotherapist. ("How convenient!" trills the chorus.) I must admit it does come in handy, especially when analysing my obsession with houses (see my earlier blog on property porn). Lately I've developed a naughty habit – window watching. I'm not technically a peeping Tom (or Tonya) as I'm not remotely interested in the people inside and what they are – or are not – wearing. I just crave a glimpse of the layout, décor, colour schemes, furniture...  

Speaking of furniture: my last blog mentioned fairtrade fashion, but why leave your morals on the welcome mat by furnishing your home with chairs and sofas made in sweatshops on the other side of the world? Take a closer look at WAWA, this month's Favourite Find. Instead of identikit couches (not to mention flat-pack induced fights with your nearest and dearest) get distinctive furniture designed and made by hand right here in England (no exploited workers, natch, not to mention all the transport miles saved).

In our dandiest local square every other house has the builders in for basement extensions (what credit crunch?). Outside I strike up conversations with the bemused blokes, winkling out all the juicy details. Eureka! Next time I may just take a flask of cloyingly sweet tea and a couple of shorties. My magic key for a guided tour – or just a reminder it's time to ring Jo?

...could be the new mantra of the House of Lords. Forget that Baroness Scotland forgot to check her cleaner’s passport. Wasn't her most shocking crime the £6- per-hour salary she paid Loloahi Tapui? I pay my (legal) cleaner £11 per hour – and may I clarify that I do not own a £2 million house in Chiswick, nor do I receive the £38,280-a-year subsidy the Baroness claimed on dubious grounds. Surely Chiswick is commutable – according to TFL Journey Planner you can sashay into Westminster in under 40 minutes. Even a taxi back to Chiswick after a hard day's slog wouldn't work out to almost 40 grand per year. And why didn't she share a bit of that gravy to help Loloahi make ends meet in her flat in Turnham Green, not exactly the cheap side of town. 

 

Why? Demeaning wages are the dirty little secret behind illegal labour. We swallow our morals and fail to cough up a fair share of the shillings. After all, illegal workers can't exactly complain. After the expenses row and second-home-allowance scandals, will the payrolls of the rich and famous be the next public shaming? And how would any of us fare under such inspection?
 

During London Fashion Week, the buzz was all about size 14 model Hayley Morley, (and a big – or actually fairly normal-sized – hurrah to her) but what about fair fashion? Do your fair share by supporting US-based No Sweat (above) which sells guilt-free trainers, T-shirts and other clothing. Or simply support local craftspeople, seamstresses and makers such as Lauren Shanley, left, this week's Website of the Week.

 

As my last blog was a big of a downer (sometimes the truth hurts) I thought I'd cheer things up with a fun Website of the Week: EcoVelo. It's a lovely-jubbly site that makes cycling sound carefree again (instead of being the gritty, life-or-death tightrope walk it is in London).

 

The founders are based in northern California, so no surprise that EcoVelo appeals to my [hidden] inner hippie (check out those cute panniers!), but it's also got interesting political info and of course plenty of product reviews. I especially like the dynamo-powered headlights. After all, if you’re expending all that energy, it may as well go to a good cause (besides keeping thighs from turning to jelly).

 

Speaking of cycling in London, a new study finds cycle lanes actually make cyclists less safe. (Add your 2p to the debate at The  Independent.) Of course wide, kerbed-off cycle lanes would increase safety, but London's titchy and sporadic lanes just encourage motorists to drive right on the edge of 'their territory', whereas they give cyclists a slightly wider berth when the road is obviously shared. Of course lowering speed limits to 20mph on neighbourhood and urban streets is the best way to ensure cyclists' safety (that and increasing the number of totally car-free streets).

 

PS: Great green gift idea: If your partner's a cyclist and his/her birthday is coming up soon, pick up a copy of David Byrne's Bicycle Diaries (Faber & Faber). [Don't worry, apparently my other half doesn't get the chance to read my blog every single day (hrmph) so my secret's safe.]

 

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