Exclusive Balmoral Blogmeet

He straddles London society like a colossus, one foot in with the top literary agents of the land, the other foot in with the homeless down at his local laundrette, but, this week, Damian from Our Albion is in Sydney.

Down on Balmoral beach things were relaxed: no literary agents, no homeless. The only crackle of tension was the hope, sparked by my last blog post, that Christ would rise up from the depth of the Tasman Sea, and, that parting the water, he would glide up through the heads onto Balmoral Beach: his second coming as we drank flavoured mineral water. But, the sea remained calm. Mr Albion and I discussed the Blogarati of Britain until he felt the need to give the other members of his party some attention. While he wandered off to chat to various old friends and family members, his mother mingled, offering cheese, grapes, chips, and diet mineral water. I talked to Mr Albion’s ex-neighbour from Neutral Bay, a man who has been diagnosed by Scientologists as having a “very low personality”. They offered to help him, but he was running late to meet some friends for the cinema so had to pass.

“As we're talking about religion, I’m going to confess something to you,” I said. The ex-neighbour leaned in closer. “You know how on Saturday there was Earth Hour, and how we were all supposed to turn our lights out...”

“Yes, yes,” he said, clearly eager to hear my secret.

“Well, I didn’t turn my lights out,” I said, lowing my voice to a whisper, looking round, fearful of being overheard. “It’s not that I don’t want to save the environment, but these actions are freaky. It might start off as voluntary, but soon it will become compulsory, and then how long will it be before we are urged to report on neighbours who are seen to be disobeying the doctrine of environmentalism. I feel the need to start the resistance before this thing gets a hold.”

“It’s George Orwell. It’s Nineteen Eighty-Four,” said the ex-neighbour.

“It’s the birth of a new religion -- environmentalism,” I said. Like communism, but instead of suffering for the good of the party, we are suffering for the good of the environment. Now I do my bit for the environment: I use energy-saving light bulbs; I have fitted an energy-saving showerhead in my bathroom; and I try not to leave the telly on standby, but sitting in the darkness is just wrong. I don’t hanker for a return to the dark ages where raw meat is all that will be on the menu, but I fear that this is where extreme environmentalism is leading us.

After this conversation, I had to leave. I had to go back up the hill, burn some energy, cook some dinner. I said good-bye -- all very continental: Mr Albion and I kissed on both cheeks, whereas Mrs Albion and I shook hands. Since, I have left England, the kissing habit has taken off.