So apparently recycling is a maddening waste of time, money and good intention (in the UK at least; we’re feeble novices at this sort of thing) but hop over to the East and behold the wonders of re-use – a Buddhist temple made from (empty) beer bottles? Genius (and wonderfully eye-catching).
It need not be said that some serious changes need to be implemented if we’re going to take the task of stretching the life of our lovely (if somewhat abused and exhausted) planet out a couple of decades longer. But what will become of one of life’s most precious simple pleasures – the humble novel? I’m hardly lusting over the thought of these daft pseudo-book gizmos; you can stuff in as many wonderworks as you want, but if it ain’t printed on sheets of paper stuck together I just can’t imagine it evoking the same degree of pleasure.
That said, I do feel a twinge of guilt at the unholy tree-carnage that precludes the creation all those exquisite books we so justly swoon over. And just think of all the godawful stuff shuffling around out there… ooh, the shame. Save the trees! Don’t print substandard nonsense! Better still – and here’s my half-assed solution to the decadence of ‘real’ books – gather all the bad books together, mash them into a mushy pulp and give them the chance to be reborn as something glorious and worthy of the poor trees who died so that people like me can curl up under one of their kind and read bits of sublime word-joy printed on their felled kin.
Hmm, so in lieu of my own inspiration, let’s cast our eager eyes towards the upcoming environment issue of Fringe… coming soon to renege our jaded souls with the glory of green. Be exicted.