Green Thing suggests one easy "green" thing a month to tempt as many people as possible to do it.

I wrote my mum's life story the other day . . . on half a sheet of A4 paper.

It was a weird experience, having to sum up 76 years in a few carefully chosen sentences.

The only conference I've ever been to in trainers and a suit...

John Barrowman is to host a new programme in which adults compete against kids for huge cash prizes.

Well, sort of. If the grown-ups win they walk away with pots of money but if the kids win they don't get a pot to....

I thought I would point you to a powerful video showing one man's thoughts on sustainability and the modern corporation.
But it is not just any man.

THIS week motorsport lost one of its greats.

He may not have been the most famous in the world, but I can say hand on heart that David Leslie was without doubt, the nicest driver I have ever met.

David was killed on Sunday evening when a plane he was travelling in crashed into a house in Kent. I saw the initial story on the news on Sunday night, but it wasn't until the next morning that I learnt that it was David.

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As I unwrap a new toothbrush from its pack it begins to dawn on me just how much waste these things generate.

April is the cruellest month’




. T.S. Eliot (the Waste Land ),
The rancid stale odour of the dressing room at Thompson Park, the smell of ‘ralga the horse linament,sweaty socks, BO, and the cheerful ironic swearing banter of the team preparing for the mental shock of being selected or rejected.
The team is announced without too much discussion, sometimes it might be the eleven who show up or the one’s who are fit enough to play. Nobody likes being a sub as it has all the disadvantages like standing in the cold.
Taking to the cold hard boney pitch, stepping carefully over the dog muck and trying to get the old stiff limbs working again.
‘Right Jimmy when you get the ball, run with it and tak them on’ is the only tactical advice I receive, ‘Noo gan on get stuck in!’ There’s a clatter of studs as the teams run out to take to the park.

The opposition take to the pitch in lurid clashing purple shirts and yellow shorts, all shapes all sizes, hairy legs the lot. A pierced empty whistle starts the game.
‘Wor keeper Ken, leaning against the post in a familiar pose, is suddenly called into action, carefully knicking his tab and throwing it down he sprints to the edge of the penalty area, to try to intercept the fast wind assisted ball.

Running from standing to full pace, he collides with the nippy winger who was just a yard too fast for him. They roll over in a tangle of limbs and groans, bodies locked in a panjandarum of slow motion. Cries ring out across the wind swept park, ‘foul! Penalty, Referee !’ The slow motion on the ball is enough to roll it into the empty unguarded net. At last the ref arrives, late, and decides to point to the penalty spot. There is argument and discussion as groups of players offer their own interpretation of the event. ‘Now shurrup aaall of yous’ the ref intervenes.

Last year we had the P.R.D. Personal Review Dialogue. Instead of the traditional evening format, a meeting was set up between parents, child and one allocated teacher during the day for approximately twenty minutes.

This year, when I am handed a letter with tear off slip from the school for me to sign and return (a day before the event I might add) I see we are back to the old system of queuing to see ten teachers...

Is it possible to build an ecologically-friendly house without leaving a manky big carbon footprint?

No.