Eco-bore?

I googled 'partner won't recycle' this morning.  This is one of the first things that comes up.
I'm completely on the side of the husband.  I think her excuses are lame.
But being a nag is counter-productive.


http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1255237/Any-chance-I-recycle-eco-bore-husband.html

"Some couples row about money, while jealousy drives a wedge between many more - but in our house it's climate change that causes the most friction as my green stormtrooper of a husband attempts to save the world, one recycling bin at a time. 

I care about our environment, I really do. That's why I re-use jam jars, pick up litter and always take my own cloth shopping bags to the supermarket. 

But, according to my husband, Carl, I'm doing nothing like enough to help preserve the planet that our three young daughters will inherit. And, boy, does he like to go on about it.

He reckons I use the car too much, don't recycle enough, and ought to be sharing bath water with the kids. Yuk.

And he scolds me more harshly than he ever does our three-year-old if I commit the heinous crime of putting carrot peelings in the bin. 

Meanwhile, I hold my breath and pray he won't find the used-up toothpaste tube and empty shampoo bottle that I tipped in there after cleaning the bathroom. 

This time I get away with it, which feels like a small victory (pathetic, I know, but that's how it's got), and somehow softens the blow as Carl continues to grumble on at me about landfill and greenhouse gases. 

My husband would describe himself as an eco-champion, while I often tell him - to his face - that the truth is he's an eco-bore.

'Good,' he says. 'I'm proud of it; at least that means I care.' 

Carl doesn't own a car and so cycles 20 miles each way to work most days come rain or shine. 

He eschews using the dishwasher in favour of cleaning the pots in the sink because he says it saves water and electricity. And he has become so worthy that he even re-uses the plastic wrap that newspaper magazines come in in as sandwich bags. 

'When are you ever going to catch up and get eco-savvy?' he asks when I come in from the cold, take off my jumper, and turn up the central heating another notch. 

Still, at least we're far from the only British couple squabbling over the contents of their wheelie bin and how high the thermostat should be set in the front room. 

According to a new survey, the fourth biggest domestic flashpoint is how warm the house should be - this subject makes for frosty relations in one in four families.

The problem is I just can't seem to get as passionate about green issues as Carl does: I'm troubled far more by things like how I'm going to fit in cooking the kids' tea, making sure everyone's homework gets done, and holding down a full-time job, to fret about how big my carbon footprint is. 

In fact, I've recently become so fed up with my husband's banging on about climate change I've started quoting articles I've found on the internet that write off the hysteria surrounding global warming altogether. 

It didn't used to be like this. Before the cycling bug bit Carl four years ago he was no better than me. Then, what started with the odd trip to the bottle bank quickly led to the family fleet being halved and a recycling bucket plonked on the kitchen worktop. 

And it's continued to grow from there. Carl tells me that the hours he now spends in the saddle rather than behind the wheel of a car have given him a greater empathy with nature, which I get, of course I do. 

But I can't help but also wish that he was rather less vocal about it all. Instead I must put up with being chastised for using the tumble drier - pegging out might take up my energy, but darling, think what it saves in electricity. 

Yet the fact remains that, noble as so many of Carl's green ideas are, I just don't have the time. 

Meanwhile, landfill, landfill, landfill, is his new mantra. So while, in the old days, Carl and I used to cross swords over whose turn it is to put the bin out, that particular battle has taken on a whole new moral dimension: namely what's gone into said bin, and could it have been composted, recycled or even not purchased in the first place.

The other day I foolishly revealed that our refuse collectors are such a helpful bunch they've been taking extra bags of rubbish off me for years.

This cheerful admission that we, as a family, are in fact guiltier than most in contributing to landfill saw Carl apoplectic with eco-rage. 

My lax approach to recycling, he ranted, was in danger of cancelling out every planet-saving strategy he uses on a daily basis. 'Why do I bother?' he wailed. 

After he said that, I confess, I did feel bad, and promised to stop chucking things in the dustbin that I could just as easily put in the recycling bin. We have a huge one just outside our back door that the council empties for us every fortnight, so I don't really have any excuse.

It's made a big difference, so much so that we didn't even have to put our wheelie bin out to be emptied this week. My husband is thrilled, as you'd imagine. 

But I'm afraid we're still a long way off the level of domestic harmony that would be attained if I would only clamber aboard the eco-bandwagon alongside him. 

The thing is I love my steaming hot baths, especially ones that haven't been enjoyed by toddlers first. 

And I hate the way clothes go crunchy when they're dried on the line. I have no intention of chaining myself to the kitchen sink when I get precious little time away from work and domestic chores as it is.

And as for re-using magazine wrappers as sandwich bags: come on Carl, I love you dearly, but get a life. 

Still, as I pointed out to my other half in the bathroom the other morning, at least I care enough about the environment to never, ever leave the water running while I clean my teeth. 

'You're such a nag,' he wailed, through a mouthful of toothpaste, before hurriedly turning off the tap."