Jess Murray

Why I Want a Frigate for Christmas.

bruce ceidlidh change climate copenhagen eu frigate ozone politics spotify summit warship waterworld willis

This week a lot of big men in big suits will be talking about the future of the world. I’m not talking about my potential re-watching of every episode of the X-Files, because frankly I don’t have the time. I’m talking about the environmental talks in Copenhagen, which seems to be as teleologically useless as inviting Hamas to a Ceilidh hosted by Benjamin Netanyahu.

According to this website, we’ve only got 85 months to save the world. And according to google, Bruce Willis is busy making five new films over the next three years.

I’m a chronic procrastinator, and if someone told me I had an 85 month deadline I’d be going out and getting wankered tonight. I thus assume the EU are too. Last week they declared the need for one hundred, billion (or 100,000,000,000) euros a year if the world as our great grand children are going to know it is to be saved. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Blofeld have that idea in every James Bond film for a decade? But that was fiction, and this isn’t, and now my pants are soiled.

Unlike You Only Live Twice, such a ransom is given an ambiguous future target, which, if the rest of the population are anything to go by, will be put off, time and time again, until an angry, wet polar bear goes all freedom-fighter-come-terrorist and bloodily maws Fredrik Reinfeldt to death. And even then, giving in to environmental pressures would be negotiating with terrorists.

So are there really any viable solutions? Local councils encourage recycling, greener fuels, better bus services and awareness schemes. Recently the 10:10 campaign was launched to change how the UK approach tackling climate change, but to be honest, I only ever considered going to the launch party at the Tate Modern for the free glass of champagne. From first hand experience I know that while people do indeed recycle their old cans of Export and packs of Weetabix, they’ve still got no qualms with getting a taxi to and back from town despite a mere 15 minute walk. Unless people are forced to do something about the way they are impacting upon the environment – which would involve a hefty amount of government policy taking years – or are greeted by a physical revelation that sends them into unstoppable quivers of panic mimicking an epileptic fit, I really don’t see people taking the steps that are actually needed.

I’m not standing on some higher than thou environmental plinth either. Taking myself as an example, I’m all for a change in pro-environmental government policy. But at the end of the day, I like having 3 lamps on at a time, because frankly, it looks nice. I have a mini fridge because I like being able to get a beer from my bed. I use the tumble dryers because I hate having to hang up wet clothes around my prison-cell of a bedroom like some struggling alcoholic housewife. So it is more than understandable, when faced the facts, that I end up knocking on my best friend’s door when drunk to complain that I’m ‘really fucking scared’ by this whole apocalypse thing. If we know the full gory consequences of our actions, and can’t even give up  the most redundant of electronic luxuries, then how the hell are we going to get out of this mess?

However, there are several strategies I employ on a day to day basis so that I don’t spend every ruddy minute of the day shitting into my bin. Firstly, while climate change is an inherently, abhorrent and awful thing, I’m a big fan of the “every cloud has a silver lining” mentality, so I like to imagine some of the hypothetical positives that could come out if it:

  • You could get to the beach quicker. There are  kids living in London’s zone 2 that have never even seen the sea, despite living on the 78th floor of a high rise flat. The sinking of the ice-caps would probably put most of New Labour’s community schemes to shame.
  • I suppose we would no longer have to listen to that God-awful Spotify advert of La Roux giggling every ten minutes, because Jonathan unfortunately drowned, and Roberta overdosed in response. (And in case you’re wondering, La Roux herself will most probably be locked in a porta-loo, floating amongst cans, condoms and baggies of shit skunk in a muddy lake that was at one point Reading Festival).
  • Drink driving wouldn’t be much of a problem, because there wouldn’t be any roads.

That’s three at least. And then there’s denial. You get those guys on youtube explaining why climate change isn’t actually happening and that the big gaping holes in the O-Zone are just fucking massive glory-holes made by ethereal beings with really big cocks.

And finally, you can plan ahead. I look to the future and I see Kevin Costner on a big iron boat, firing bullets aimlessly into the water because the script to Waterworld is shit. But, if all goes well, and I end up earning a nice packet of money every month, I know what I’ll be going down the road to buy with my pocket money. That’s right, a big fuck-off Frigate.

Climate change can throw all it wants in my direction, but if I’m on a sun lounger, automatic guns armed, and enjoying a nice afternoon with my future wife and kids on my brand new 450 ft warship, it’s not going to be all bad. Once we get used to the taste of Frey Bentos pies, I can imagine life will be pretty damn sweet.

But the rest of you? Well, you’re fucked, and almost certainly doomed. But I sure as hell am not turning off my mini fridge, because there’s nothing that makes me as phenomenally repulsed than when some idiot’s tuna mayonnaise ends up on my ham.