Eco-Warrior

POW! It’s an eco-warrior up a tree! CRUST! He hasn’t washed his hair in years! SHIT THE BED! He’s wielding a carrot and he’s prepared to use it!

Eco-warriors are modern day Davids to our big business Goliaths, battling ‘the man’ armed only with balsa wood batons and a head full of ideals. The world’s first eco-warrior was Bridget Bardot. Bardot, or Bri as she likes me to call her, was a great fan of horses and did much to put animal rights on the map. Despite once having a neighbour’s donkey castrated on the grounds of its ‘sexual harassment’ of her own donkey, Bardot’s green outlook, vegetarianism and eco activism have all raised the profile of the eco-warrior. That said, I find it hard to trust anyone who would choose an ant over a human – however fit they looked in Cette Sacrée Gamine.

My old chum Negative Graham has always fancied himself as an eco-warrior. He rarely misses a meeting even if it means driving vast distances in his 5X5. Thankfully he offsets his extravagant car behaviour by drinking low-fat milk, clearing up after himself and recycling old jokes.

The problem with eco-warriors is there aren’t enough of them, so they don’t make enough difference. The only way this could be resolved would be for EVERYONE to become an eco-warrior. Sadly human nature stands in the way: greed, laziness and a propensity to get a bit fat from crisps. The result is that all too many of us watch admiringly as apparent nutbags with one-word names like ‘Swampy’ and ‘Dirtbag’ bury themselves under runways whilst we think, ‘I’d be there too, only I promised myself an early night’. I mean, look at me – penning this column from a coffee shop high on Salisbury Hill whilst my half brother, Gilbert, hurls himself betwixt a whale and a sharpened harpoon in the South Pacific. It’s pathetic. Then again, Gilbert always was the adventurous one.

Let us not mince words: where the majority of us are happy to read about climate change in free newspapers delivered to our capital in thirsty trucks, the eco-warrior truly puts his money where his gob goes. Not that he has much money – it’s hard to get a job when your address is a tree.

Oh no! I keep making jokes about the very people striving to prevent the decay of the only thing that matters in the world – the world. What does that make me? That’s it – I’m selling the Peugeot, getting a weave and a one-word moniker (‘Shrimp’) and going out to join them. Please recycle this column. Thank you.