My daughter is a very annoying climate fanatic.
She arrives at my barn, heads for the kitchen, opens the rubbish drawer and huffs and puffs as she rearranges the garbage.
Quite often, there is the telling of one particularly sad tale. A lobster is swimming along, minding its own business, when a nasty string of plastic arrives, wraps itself round the lobster’s neck and Emma, with tears in her eyes, tells me that is the end of the lobster.
It’s all very tiresome. Well, obviously, for the lobster, and for Emma – but also for me, because I’m forever waiting to be admonished.
We will return to the threat to our climate. And Emma’s obsession with it. First, let me tell
