Weigh Cup

November may be carnival season in Somerset, but for PDB11 and me recently, it has been climate protest season.  The placards that PDB11 made in the summer (on one side, his reads ‘There Is No Planet B’ and mine reads ‘Climate Crisis Is Still Here’; on the back, both read ‘There’s No Economy Without the Ecology’) have been getting plenty of exercise, mostly mounted on walking poles.

A fortnight ago were Extinction Rebellion’s Insure Our Survival protests outside the offices of companies that insure fossil fuel companies.  PDB11 went to one outside Howden’s Insurance in Bath on Friday (while I was at work), and we had both meant to go to one outside Tokio Marine in Clifton on Saturday, but didn’t make it.

Last Saturday we went to a Christian Climate Action silent prayer vigil in Bristol Cathedral, under the poignant Gaia sculpture.  PDB11 commented to an attendant at the cathedral that compared with some of the things and events that have been installed in cathedrals to attract the public, from helter-skelters to silent raves, surely no-one was likely to object to a statue drawing attention to the beauty and fragility of God’s creation?  The attendant said that on the contrary, they had been accused of idolatry because the artist used the name of a Greek goddess.

Today was the Climate Justice Coalition’s Global Day of Action for Climate Justice, to urge governments to take climate change seriously at the 29th session of the Conference of the Parties to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, or, as it is better known, COP29.  There were events going on all over the country, but the nearest one to us that was publicised was in Southampton.

Arriving at a climate protest by car seems inappropriate (though we could just as well argue that it is hypocritical to use public transport for this when we drive to Southampton for other purposes like visiting friends or family.  To be in Southampton in time for a march that started at 10.45, we would need to leave the house at 6.30am to catch a bus shortly before 7 to arrive in Bath in time to catch an 8.35 train.  Could we do it?  Well – okay, just about. 

PDB11 asked me to promise to wake him if his own alarm didn’t go off (his clock had been showing signs of confusion about what time it was).  I was woken at 5, and lay in bed knowing what I had promised, but not feeling like moving or even shouting ‘Wake up!’  Thankfully, PDB11 woke anyway.  We switched the water heater on, and then managed to find time to read Maskerade together for half an hour while the water warmed up, before getting washed and dressed and still managing to set off on time.

Apart from using public transport, I decided to make a change in my own life.  I had signed a petition a few days before, calling for a ban on single-use cups in cafés.  I knew that, while I don’t buy drinks in disposable cups all that often, I do it more often than I should: I get through probably one or two a week in after-service drinks at church, and quite a few on train journeys. 

So, this time, I was definitely going to take a cup with me.  Not a ceramic one that could easily break, of course, but – maybe the fun plastic one shaped like a camera lens (complete with a lid in the shape of a lens cap)?  We didn’t use it nearly enough, after all.

Setting off for the bus stop in the dark felt like quite an adventure.  Admittedly, it was more like pre-dawn twilight; we could at least see the entrance to Ash Lane on the other side of the road, even though the torch on my phone helped us find our way into it.  Soon it grew lighter as we travelled on, and there was plenty of time to read and think on the bus and train.  At the café at Bath Spa station, I ordered a tea in the lens mug, and thought the cashier had undercharged me until he explained that there was a 30p discount for bringing a mug.

Southampton is already starting its Christmas celebrations – or maybe continuing a November carnival.  When we arrived in Guildhall Square shortly before the march was due to start at 10.45, we couldn’t see anyone who looked like a protestor – in fact, we couldn’t see anyone except a chap sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette.  What we could see was a ferris wheel, lit up by fairy lights.  We wondered whether we should book rides on it, so as to hold our placards aloft where everyone could see them – not that people would be able to read the writing.

A better plan, we agree, would be to ask a passing police officer if they knew where the march was starting.  Perhaps it was scheduled to start somewhere else and only finish here, and the police were sure to know, as they would be escorting it.  Better still, we could see whether the Art House Café was still here, and ask them.  (Apparently, The Art House has now ‘made the decision to transform into a pop-up, using likeminded spaces to run performance events and a community pantry,’ according to its website.)

Just as the clock struck 11, the protesters, complete with singing, drumming and colourful Extinction Rebellion flags, came up through East Park and across the road to us.  I hurried to join them before they moved off.  PDB11 ran after me, calling, ‘Wait!’  It was a few minutes before I realised what the problem was.  In my hurry, I had left behind the walking-poles, and PDB11 had slipped the one that doesn’t fold up to fit in his backpack between planks of the bench we were sitting on, for safekeeping. 

I tugged the other pole out of his bag for him to fit on his placard, then ran to retrieve the other one.  Another member of the group ran after me, to give me back the lens mug, which had fallen out of the side-pocket of my bag.  I thanked her, zipped it securely inside my bag, and went to catch up with the others.

We began by walking along the German-style Christmas Market that had set up in Above Bar, with artificial Christmas trees and stalls whose roofs were dusted with artificial snow.  Some sold novelty gifts such as dream-catchers, but most sold food: German schnitzels, Belgian pancakes, and Olde Englishe fudge (the traditional English Oreo cookie flavour, as invented in New York and owned by Mondelez).

Further along, nearer the Bar Gate, were more fairground rides: a carousel, spinning teacups, and a small roller-coaster called ‘The Runaway Train’.  All these rides looked like small, gentle versions for very young children, but I can’t believe that as a small child I would have agreed to get on anything called ‘The Runaway Train’.  I found just listening to the song frightening.

As an adult, I know even more about what there is to be frightened of, especially environmental problems (though admittedly, I was already worrying about the destruction of the rainforest at age seven in the 1980s – it isn’t just modern children who worry).  Yet somehow, marching in a group, waving placards and chanting or singing, with people drumming or shaking tambourines or maracas, feels somehow festive.  There weren’t many elaborate costumes this time, with people dressing up as animals or water-spirits, but one woman was wearing a small paper top hat and a mask with a villainous curly moustache drawn on it, and carrying a skull which she kept rapping with long gold false nails on her left hand.  I asked her afterwards whether she was dressed as a character from traditional mythology, but she said no, it was simply a caricature of capitalism.

She was also wearing ear-defenders, to block out excessive noise from the march.  I sympathised with her.  I kept alternately taking off my woolly hat with ear-flaps so that I could hear to join in the chant of ‘What do we want?’ – ‘Climate justice!’ – ‘When do we want it?’ – ‘Now!’ and putting it back on to muffle the sound of the drumming, but her noise-sensitivity was clearly much worse than mine, and she came anyway.  Another woman was marching on crutches.

There were a number of sleeping-bags on the pavement, which I hoped would still be there when their owners got back to them.  I also saw several men sitting begging.  I offered to share my packed lunch with them, and was surprised when two out of the three men I talked to actually accepted my offer of peanut butter, celery and Marmite sandwiches.  They must have been hungry indeed.

The march took us into shopping malls twice, and up and down escalators.  I had never been on an indoor protest march before, and it reminded me of Bill Bryson gently poking fun at people who are so averse to the open air that they join walking groups that go hiking inside shopping malls.  But at least it got people’s attention.

Police officers escorted us, not causing any trouble as long as we were just protesting peacefully.  But, as Philip said after accidentally bumping into a policeman, it’s a good thing we don’t live in a country where police shoot on sight.

After the march, the organiser invited everyone back to the café at MAST Mayflower Studios, where there was free food laid on.  Having given part of my own lunch away, I was happy to accept, and it was a good idea to try to get to know other people a bit better. 

PDB11 and I aren’t good at social mingling, but we managed to chat when a woman called Marty came to join us at our table.  We explained how we had started to get involved in activism in the past year after it became obvious that the government wasn’t paying attention.  There was only so much that private individuals could do, said PDB11, like using public transport…

And reusable cups, I added, getting mine out of my bag.  Marty admired it – and then gently broke the news to me that this one wasn’t going to be reusable any more.  The hard plastic was cracked, and only the rubber decorations were holding it together.  It was a sad fate for a fun novelty mug, but the most anyone would be able to do with it now was store pens in it.

PDB11 said, ‘Oh well, it wasn’t that good a cup.’  But it had been a wonderfully realistic design, and it had been a present from his brother, and it hadn’t been mine to break.

Otherwise, it had been a good day.  Apart from Marty, we talked to a man who had put together materials for a course on green living that might be of interest to people in our village, so PDB11 asked him to email details.  It might do some good.

I hope it can outweigh the cup.