Like all the best things in life, this story starts with an argument about bins. Admittedly, I could do better at recycling. I can try to chalk this up to having read too much about how all our plastic waste ultimately ends up in landfill sites in the poorest parts of south-east Asia. But I’m also lazy and so well-acquainted with cognitive dissonance that I could probably cry over the death scene in Bambi while comforting myself by chowing down on a giant haunch of venison.
My partner, Leo, is the total opposite: diligent and principled. Which is why she finally lost it with me for failing to put a plastic yoghurt tub in the recycling. I went on the defensive, citing half-imagined reports about megadumps in the Philippines and inescapable doom. She retaliated by booking us on an educational tour of Southwark Reuse and Recycling Centre.
