It all started with a kettle. A full one, I should add. Too full, I said,
for tea for two. “Think of the wasted energy when you boil all that
water! Is this what happens when you make the morning tea?” Breakfast was
ruined. My beloved told me that I was a green bully. Worse than that, he
tried to blame the row on what he infuriatingly called “my controlling
tendencies”.
To prove my point, I demonstrated how seven cups of tea could be made with the
water he had boiled (perhaps this was overdoing it). He said if I cared so
much why didn’t I run off with Swampy. Anyway, it escalated, as these things
do, and before we knew it, we were in the grip of a fully fledged domestic.
Except that this one was different. Like everything else, it had gone green.
Looking back, I recognise it as our first eco-argument. Instead of traditional
rowing subjects that have rattled couples for generations — who does the
washing-up and why the shared bank account is overdrawn — we had slipped
into new territory. Our raised voices belted out words such as Fairtrade,
food miles and flight restrictions. Accusations of carbon criminality were
hurled, along with other less articulate insults. That was six months ago,
when I had renewed my efforts to implement the changes that I write about in
the Eco-Worrier column.
These days, our pea-green domestic disruptions come thick and fast. There was
the time I nipped back to the flat we share in North London for my packed
lunch. Lo and behold, my planet-trashing other half (otherwise known as
Gervase) was in the bedroom with the electric blow heater on full blast and
the window wide open. What better way to abuse electricity. If I hadn’t had
to rush off to work, it could have turned nasty. Switching lights off is
another well-trodden battlefield. Five minutes is the amount of time you
need to be out of the bedroom to make it worth switching off the light, I
say, quoting the Energy Saving Trust. “But I was about to go back upstairs,”
he mumbles, slumped in front of 24.
I realise that your sympathies may be with Gervase. You’re probably already
painting a picture of me as a holier-than-thou eco-vangelist. Indeed, I
began to wonder myself, as I punched the TV standby button off for the
umpteenth time, if I am the only one saving the planet at the expense of my
relationship. Will I end up a lonely old biddy hanging out used teabags? A
post on the Eco-Worrier blog, asking others to air their eco-arguments,
reassures me.
Tracy Stokes, a 35-year-old fellow green blogger, who set up www.ecostreet.com,
reels off her complaints. “Why does he take so long in the shower? Why won’t
he press the eco-button to save water while he’s in there? And why does he
have to drive over the speed limit on the motorway, creating more carbon
dioxide emissions than necessary?” she writes.
The subject of heating is what sparks off Anna Robinson, 34. “I prefer a cold
bedroom and to turn off the heating when we’re out,” she says. “He likes a
tropical environment and maintains that my method is more wasteful because
the heating has to work harder when it comes on.”
Meanwhile, a friend who recently installed a wormery (against the wishes of
her boyfriend) confides: “It has come between us. He won’t go near the
thing, talk about it or acknowledge the existence of 2,000 worms in our
backyard.” Worse than that, she worries that he’s looking for a way to pay
her back by doing something that she hates. I tell her to stay firm and
repeat the mantra: “Love me, love my worms.” When I set up my own bin a year
ago, I set the important ground rule that Gervase would have to, at least,
feign enthusiasm for my pet wrigglies.
All this wrangling is quite normal, according to Penny Mansfield, the director
of One Plus One Marriage and Partnership Research. “Like where to send your
children to school, whether to go to church or your political alignment,
environmental conduct has become a subject which reflects core values,” she
says.
“It’s understandable that you want them to be shared by your partner. The rows
become about who you are and how you see the world.” When you consider the
sparks that fly when the terrible trio of politics, religion and private
education are dissected around the kitchen table, it is little wonder that
we’re getting rattled about going green, often referred to as a 21st-century
religion. “This is sharpened when you have children,” Mansfield adds. “You
have to decide on a family policy on the environment; it’s no longer
possible to skirt the subjects that you know you don’t agree on.”
But don’t think that all eco-arguments are about principle, she warns. “Think
about whether this is something you really care about or whether it’s just
an excuse to let off steam. Most rows are based on the same old tensions
about who does what in the home.” In other words, we are inclined to dress
them in green clothing: to kid ourselves that a spat over who takes out the
recycling is about lofty principles, not domestic drudgery.
The moral dimension to an eco-argument is one of its most maddening features.
When Al Holland, 29, comments on the blog that he argues with his girlfriend
about their holiday plans, he admits that he enjoys it when she asks if they
can fly to Greece. “It’s an opportunity to restate all the evils of air
travel,” he writes, smugly. Virtue is certainly on the side of the green. If
all else fails, there is a secret weapon. Guilt. Arms can be folded, long
faces pulled and the words “Think of our grandchildren” delivered
emotionally.
I had been hoping that this breed of row would evolve as the prerogative of
the fairer sex. Instead blog feedback indicates that men are just as likely
to be wound up by noncommittal partners. The work of the eco-auditor
Donnachadh McCarthy, who visits people’s homes to give advice on how to
minimise their carbon footprint, backs this up. “One half of a couple is
usually more enthusiastic and committed to change than another,” he says.
“But I’ve seen as many men obsessed by the small steps that make a house
environmentally friendly as women.” That said, the areas we leap to defend
are likely to be gender-specific.
An Npower survey conducted last year, in association with a Leicester
University psychologist, found that food-related activities such as reusing
carrier bags, turning off appliances and buying eco-friendly products fell
to women. Men were more concerned with the bigger picture; the battle to
reduce energy or to set up DIY energy generation.
According to Anne Campbell, an evolutionary psychologist, the development of
gender roles over thousands of years explains this. “On a biological and
psychological level, there are differences between the sexes that can be
traced back to our hunter-gatherer origins,” she says. “It is to be expected
that environmental information is processed and manifest in different ways,
even though men and women have been equally exposed to it. Women would be
likely to keep it within their role in the home, while men might let it
influence things outside of it, such as their choice of car.” Staunch
confirmation of gender stereotypes this may be, but it also suggests that
the division of green chores, as much as unequal commitment to the planet,
is causing conflict. Especially if going green gives your other half an
excuse to buy new wheels every month.
McCarthy believes it is also a problem when one half of a couple switches into
change mode, wanting to shake up their life, while the other hopes that
things will stay the same. “The solution is always to look for compromise,”
he says. “If one person is aghast at the thought of collecting kitchen
scraps for compost, I’ll suggest keeping them in a bucket outside the
kitchen.”
Mansfield’s advice on resolving differences is to wait until you’ve cooled off
before you address them. “Don’t speak to your partner during a flare-up,”
she says. “If it’s something that is important to you, allow your thoughts
to settle for a day and then talk about it. Explain why it matters to you.”
Sounds sensible, but what if your attitudes cannot be harmonised?
In my case, I suspect that I’ve taken the challenging path of falling for
someone who doesn’t always echo my world view. Will we reach stale-mate? “As
long as your partner respects your values, he doesn’t have to share them,”
says Mansfield. “Many people would die of boredom if their views were never
questioned in a relationship. As long as it doesn’t involve constant
opposition, difference is a good thing.”
Come to think of it, I’m perfectly happy that I’ve claimed being green as my
patch. I wouldn’t take kindly to competition. One eco-worrier per household
is probably enough.
Mr Eco-Worrier’s strategy
GERVASE DE WILDE, Anna’s partner, draws up a checklist for a quiet life
First, a warning: there is no way back. People do not become less
green, and a passing interest in environmental issues in your partner will
not fade. Even if they don’t write a column in a newspaper about their
eco-worries, you might still find that their awareness turns to full-blown
obsession. This can touch on every aspect of your life, from where you do
your shopping and how you carry it home to whether it’s OK to take holidays
any farther from London than West Wales. Once I got used to this brave new
green world, it was time to work out ways of living in it.
Learn the terminology, the trick to seeming like you’re getting with
the eco-programme. Become fluent in the language of Fairtrade and carbon
footprints. Otherwise you’re destined to lose your foothold on the moral
high ground and find yourself floundering in arguments about overfilling the
kettle or buying ingredients for dinner that are covered in wasteful
packaging.
Cultivate opinions on carbon offsetting and the value of composting
worm bins, or face arguments that end in unfavourable comparisons with your
greener half and their more sustainable way of life.
Make some eco-jobs your own. Learn to agree, gracefully, to turn off
lights, music and computers, while keeping less green habits quiet (hide the
Sainsbury’s bags as soon as you get back from the shops). Undertake the
manly task of carrying a heavy box of recycling outside and the eco-credits
accumulated may well come in handy when you’re making your case for a short
break in Marrakesh.
And when it all gets too much, remember that even a solitary trip to
the pub, where your drinking vessel, is washed up and used again (in what I
now know is an impressive demonstration of sustainable practices), can have
its eco-friendly side.
