Samantha Weinberg

Wednesday

Samantha Weinberg

Green wife

From our UK edition

‘Hello Barbara,’ Emma says as she hauls the Hoover in through the front door. I can’t disguise my confusion. ‘As in Tom and Barbara. You know, from The Good Life.’ I don’t get it, at first. I still think of myself as this London chick — well, probably old broiler would be more accurate. But definitely a little bit urban and sophisticated. I can hold my own at a media dinner on Madison Avenue — at least I’m sure I could, if I hadn’t given up flying. Our house has all sorts of cool stuff in it. Hasn’t it? I look around. There are sheets and pants hanging from a makeshift drying rack in the hall, which has seen heavy action since we gave up the tumble dryer last year.

Saturday

Samantha Weinberg

Green Wife

From our UK edition

My chocolate chip cookies have arrived at the farm shop. Caroline apologises as I walk in: ‘I’m afraid they’re Fairtrade.’ ‘All the better,’ I reply. ‘Why on earth would that be a problem?’ ‘They’re a little dearer. Some people don’t want to pay the extra pennies.’ Eleven packets equals a few extra pounds, but I’m happy to spread a little ethical largesse, particularly since we’re going to sell them for £1 each (including a cup of tea) at the big badger debate. Organic Fairtrade would have been even better. I wonder whether 99 biscuits is enough, and almost turn back for more. But I can’t quite believe that we’re going to get the numbers that Mark’s hoping for.

Saturday

Samantha Weinberg

Climate camp: next year we’ll go for longer

From our UK edition

It is 11 p.m. on Saturday night and I am way out of my comfort zone. With my husband, two young children and dog, I have spent the day with 1,300 climate campaigners, none of whom I knew before, in a sodden field near Heathrow’s second runway. Now the five of us are squeezed into a three-man tent, rain seeping through the sides, listening to the roar of planes taking off and landing. It’s not exactly summer camp. And yet I feel strangely elated. The irony is that we nearly didn’t come to climate camp — because of the weather. At home in Wiltshire on Saturday morning, with a nice dry house full of chores and entertainments, the idea of camping in the rain seemed particularly unappealing. Like eating cold baked beans, or stepping barefoot on worms.