Cause For Concern

Last Saturday I found myself largely home alone as Noi went off for the day to a wedding in Malaysia. Fortunately she was back by the late evening, so life wasn't entirely bleak for the day - and I did manage to spin Marquee Moon at a highly satisfactory volume (as noted in an appropriate post) to take the edge off the marking which dominated my hours alone. I also toddled up to Holland Village to stretch my legs and quaff the cup that cheers once the marking was done, taking the opportunity to buy the latest Mekong Review and the August edition of The New York Review of Books at the nifty magazine shop on the corner.

Once established with my cuppa, happily gazing out upon the various passers-by, I thought I'd get acquainted with the opening article in the latter publication only to realise I'd read it already in NYRB's on-line version. And whatever sense of post-marking contentment I was feeling abruptly vanished as I remembered my original perusal of Alan Weisman's Burning Down the House, his review of two hard-hitting tomes related to climate change, had left me mildly depressed. For reasons I'm hesitant to fathom I read the piece again, with even greater attention than the first time round, and considerably darkened my afternoon.

Just lately I've noticed how real these environmental concerns have become for me. That's a spectacularly dumb thing to say, I know, but I also know it's true. They're beginning to leak into everyday conversations and I'm a bit worried that I'll start to sound like I think I have a right to preach on such matters. It's a minor saving grace that I'm aware my track record has established no such right.

I'm trying to think of something real and positive I might do in relation to all this. And I'm worried that I just might not be able to.