Oh well, I suppose it was inevitable that Iceland and Mother Nature would seek revenge for past injustices. I was already feeling slightly guilty about hopping on yet another Easyjet flight to Toulouse from Bristol, 'sans famille' this time, so soon after our Easter sojourn, when the news came through. The glacier topped Mount Unpronounceable, aka Eyjafjallajokull, had decided to wreak havoc on the travelling public just as the Easter vacation was ending. Our lust for exotic holidays and city breaks, with no thought of any consequences other than a delayed take-off slot, left many of us stranded in airport lounges whilst volcanic ash, steam and dust blocked our incoming flightpaths more effectively than any potential terrorist outrage.
I count myself as one of the lucky ones. My journey originated just an hour's train ride from my home and it was easy enough to follow updates on Easyjet's website from the comfort of my study. Friends and family are scattered around the globe wondering how they are going to get back to work, school and important exams. My hairdresser's 9.00 am appointment last Friday had to be cancelled because his client's flight into Heathrow from Vancouver had been turned round half way. No late cancellation fee there then! Some friends are stuck in Val d'Isere [tough?], another on the floor of Bangkok Airport [seriously tough!]. The stories are fast becoming apocryphal and many of us will dine out on them for months.
As I unpacked my packets of seed and summer bulbs this morning, which I had set my heart on planting, and the two metres of crisp blue and white linen with which I was going to make a Roman blind for the kitchen, I felt decidedly uneasy. The weekend papers had been full of doom and gloom, especially the more serious analyses focussing on the likelihood of Mount Katia exploding into life and dwarfing anything we have seen from her little sister. Even these articles, though, seemed tame compared with the predictions of the father of Gaia theory, James Lovelock, shown as part of BBC 4's enlightening 'Beautiful Minds' series.
James Lovelock is now a gentle, kindly ninety year old with a mind as razor sharp as ever. He talks softly, like a benevolent great uncle dispensing toffee caramels. He is mesmerising. But what he has to say is more terrifying than anything anyone else has said on the subject of climate change. It is, as far as he is concerned, completely irreversible. Nothing any of us chooses to do will make the blindest bit of difference to the inevitable outcome. We are doomed. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are riding out in full regalia and they are closer to our tails than any one of us is prepared to acknowledge. In short, the great Sir James Lovelock thinks that we have ten years grace, possibly a little longer with a good wind behind us. 'Shock and Awe'? We ain't seen nothin' yet! Famine, water shortages, war, death, there was not a single cheery word in the whole interview. At most, a mere billion of us will survive. How depressing is that?
I looked for some degree of comfort from the fact that he would say that, wouldn't he? After all, he is ninety years old. His life's work is done and he can afford to make a mistake now. But no, he knocked that one on the head by saying that he was a great grandfather who fears dreadfully for the youngest members of his family. Like the rest of us, he fears for his children's children. His life's work has been about the interconnectedness of every aspect of nature. We have been shown the warning signs, the breakdown that has occurred, and now it is too late. We are looking at catastophe beyond our comprehension. Perhaps, methinks, the power and wrath of Eyjafjallajokull is a metaphor for what is to come?
So today, as I took Charlie, our dog, for a walk by the river at Laverstock, I was struck by how beautiful it all was. The ducks and drakes were swimming along with their baby ducklings in tow, with not a care in the world beyond the needs of new parenthood. The sun was shining through the trees, a little too hazily for my liking [was that an ash cloud dispersing above me?] and the birds fluttered overhead, not daring to come any closer because of Charlie's eager presence. Wild daffodil and narcissi were hanging on to their beautiful trumpets for just a little while longer. I wished I'd had a basket for the new nettle shoots, which will make a great spring soup or wild weed pie. Life was beautiful. Everything was beautiful.
And then I thought, 'Bugger Lovelock!' He may well be right. Then again he may not. 'Que sera, sera'. I'm not going to let him spoil my joy in the world. Hope springs eternal and all that. I vowed to live each day as if it were the world's last. We must all strive to do our utmost to preserve what we have, to love, protect and cherish it and to give thanks for the simple joys of life. If each of us changes the way we look at the world, if we stop taking it for granted and try to give back more than we take out, then maybe, just maybe, enough of us will survive to ensure that we will have a future. I must not fly! I must not fly! I must not fly!
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