Mood today: jealous.
Jealous of my previous life, browsing cellophane wrapped swedes in Sainsburys.
And jealous of the fat slugs who have happily munched through my carefully transplanted swedes.
Yes, the rain, welcome as it was to my parched vegetable patch out the back, brought with it the evil slimy creatures.
So the first pitfall of greenness...how do you ´do your bit´, cultivating a beautiful allotment style garden without harming poor hedgehogs and birds with slug pellets?
Apparently by planting onions and garlic round the aforementioned swedes, according to my boyfriend.
This is all requiring slightly too much brainpower and I can´t help but fantasise of my evenings spent treading the tiles of Tesco.
But on to more pressing matters. I have food guilt - and itś not because of the cake I had after dinner. No, far worse, I had tomatoes from Italy. Does this matter? Yes, because they were flown on a plane and put in a plastic box when I would have been perfectly fine eating a good old British tomato. Maybe instead of Weight Watchers, someone could set up Carbon Watchers, or Carbon Abusers Anonymous. I would certainly be one of the worst offenders where food is concerned - I just cannot resist the temptation of the flavours of sunny climes. Drab Britiain just cannot compete....and I just do not think I can survive on purely British food.
But I have yet to be proven wrong. I am paying a visit to Farmer´s City Market in Hampton Wick on Thursday where I will be guided down the good path of greeness in my weekś shopping. Maybe that goddess-like wicker basket thing can still come true.
You might get the impression from reading this that I am actually quite a green person. But I have come a long way and my week of being green is more of a culmination of several years travelling towards a greener place.
I lived in Germany for a year and could not have been less green - I couldn´t bear to take out the organic bin (eww it´s MOULDY) and threw my cans and glass in the bin. I even (the shame) put plastic in the food waste bin. And as for the weird bins in train stations which - can you believe it - had separate holes for different materials, well they were quite a tourist attraction.
But now look at me, walking the three miles to work, picking cans out of the bin at home and reading labels to see where things have come from rather than the fat content.
Thereś hope for us all...