Friends?

I'm on a train yet again from London to Hove, having opted to save myself an early start by staying at Fiona's the night before my day with PK tomorrow. I was hoping to get to Hove in time to sit on the beach and watch the sun setting, but I might have left it a little late. The sun looks suspiciously low in the sky, and I've barely left Victoria! 

The weather is oppressively hot. They have now raised the "heat wave warning" to level three, which means we now have to look out for all our very old and very young relatives, some of whom, apparently, are likely to die. The fourth (and final) warning is coupled with an even gloomier prognosis. Apparently "anyone could die." Cheery!

I, for one, am struggling to keep dry. How tragic is that in the middle of a drought? When the heatwaves roll in, we must all pity the hairy people. They were talking about keeping hairy dogs clippered nice and short on This Morning this morning, and I feel the advice should be extended to humans of the hirsute variety!  After showering at the gym today, I simply couldn't dry myself. I couldn't tell if water or sweat was pouring off me, but two towels and a hair dryer did nothing to stem the flow! It's genuinely mortifying. 

Talking of water, I've just taken a massive dive into the First World War pool to do research for the musical I'm about to write. I'm working my way through archive lists at the Imperial War Museum, seeing which of the collections of papers might be relevant. Of course it's impossible to ascertain the relevance of papers without knowing the story I'm trying to tell, but I can't decide on a story until I've done the research! Which ought to come first, I wonder? 

A few weeks ago, I felt moved by a poster on the tube for Friends of the Earth's campaign to plant flowers to save bees. Nathan and I are both great bee lovers and the deal was to text the word "bee" to a number, which would donate £5 to the charity, and in return a packet of seeds would be sent to me filled with flowers that bees like. Simples.

Today the man from Friends of the Earth called to ask for my address so he could send me the seeds. "Do you have a few minutes to talk?" He asked. I nodded semi-audibly. "Firstly, I should point out that I'm part of a small team of people who are paid by the charity to make calls of this nature..." How sad, I thought, that we've reached a stage where disclosure of information requires someone from a charity to make it clear that he's not a volunteer and is being paid to warm-call me. 

He took my address details fairly swiftly, but then the inevitable happened, "so where will you plant the seeds?" He asked.  "Probably in my garden," I said. "Oh are you a keen gardener?" he asked... And there it was. Rule number one when you're asking for more money, "make them feel special by hooking them in with chatter about something which interests them..." 

And with that he launched into the script. Did I know that four types of British bee were already extinct? Did I fully understand the nature of the crisis that the loss of bees would create? I barely had time to respond before he motored on into the next part of the script, priding himself on the fact, no doubt, that he could charm the elderly birds out of the trees and make it sound like he wasn't actually reading a script. 

I felt really let down. I'd donated money to a charity, a small sum, of course, but there I was with a man reading a script which was plainly going to end with his asking me for another donation. And more calls will follow, I've no doubt. Friends of the Earth will sell my contact details to other charities and I'll receive emails filled with bleeding heart requests for money from the type of fashionable charities for children and animals which I despise.

It's cynical and it's sad, and I shall think twice before donating to a charity like this again. A one off donation should surely be enough?

I'm afraid the caller got a slightly terse response from me. "I know where this is going," I said "and please stop reading this script at me. I am genuinely excited to be receiving my seeds, and I will plant them and hope that more bees come to visit me, but I know you're going to ask me for more money, and that's really not fair. Are you okay for us to just finish this call now?"

I could tell he was somewhat taken aback by my response, but the idea of going through a ten-minute conversation with him feeling more and more as though he were reeling me in seemed unfair on us both! To my mind, he alienated me right from the start of the conversation by telling me he was being paid to make the call, and it immediately struck me that his behaviour was no less irritating and morally dubious than that of those out of work actors and wannabe models who jump out on you wearing kagools and holding clip boards begging you to donate to charities who ought to know better!

Rant over! You're better than that, Friends of the Earth! 

I've now got off the train and snaked my way down to the sea front. I did manage to miss the sunset but have been rewarded with a pale blue sky and the twinkling lights of Brighton stretching into the misty distance. I may well try to record more waves. There's not a wisp of wind in the air tonight... Just the faint aroma of seaweed, candy floss and barbecues. The moon is glinting in the sea like phosphorescence!