Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing

4a) Every time I move hesitantly towards the boiler, Toryboy flings aside whatever tome he is reading – Babies I Have Known And Eaten, by Michael Howard, What Have The Arts Done For You Lately by AN Tory-Tosspot – and starts wailing in what I believe to be an approximation of a generic voice of liberal concern, "The dolphins! Nooooo! What about the do-o-olphins?" This is insanely annoying but, y'know what? It does make me think of the dolphins and so I stay my hand once more.

Also, I have signed up to this bloody 10:10 pledge to reduce my emissions by 10%. As I already don't have a car, don't fly, never go anywhere, never buy anything except secondhand books and the occasional extra secondhand sweater, am constitutionally incapable of wasting food (as long as by "wasting" we mean "throwing away" rather than "still eating, regardless of the fact that its age and quality have long since rendered the exercise devoid of any pleasure or satisfaction, and turned it into a simple act of refuelling"), the only way I can cut my household carbon footprint is to eat my cats or keep my hand off the thermo-switch.

Not having switched my own heating on yet this year — it hasn't been cold enough and, besides, scrupling to notice such minor thing is a sure sign of moral turpitude — I think I definitely qualify for membership of Otherwise Sane People Who Have Nevertheless Conceived Of The Use Of Central Heating As A Moral And Ethical Barometer. I wonder if you get a free giant womble jumper when you join...