But as time goes by, the wall begins to crumble. I have an unhealthy habit of disassociation, seeking to park my environmental awareness in one part of my mind while the rest of my life occupies another. Yet with every year of inaction and denial by our governments, with every extension of economic power over political life, the grounds for hope seem fainter. Somehow I have to start work in the morning with the expectation that there is some bloody point to it. Somehow I have to reconcile this knowledge with bringing up children. Every day, I must think about the terrible things we’re doing to the living planet and our own prospects of survival. There is one question I am asked more than any other: how do you cope? Like other environmental journalists, I spend my life rolling in the excrement of humanity.
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