Life was so much simpler when the stuff I threw out was just a load of old rubbish

My partner, who says he cannot bring himself to vote Labour, would rather watch back-to-back repeats of That's Life than vote Conservative, and can't vote for someone who has called their baby "Donald" because, as I have told him most firmly, it's just such a crap name, has decided that he will vote for the Green Party. I don't doubt that the Green Party is a jolly good thing, but I've always rather thought it sounds less like a political organisation and more like a restaurant booking. "Are you with the Green party, madam? Right, follow me. Mr Green is already seated. May I take your coat?"

My partner, who says he cannot bring himself to vote Labour, would rather watch back-to-back repeats of That's Life than vote Conservative, and can't vote for someone who has called their baby "Donald" because, as I have told him most firmly, it's just such a crap name, has decided that he will vote for the Green Party. I don't doubt that the Green Party is a jolly good thing, but I've always rather thought it sounds less like a political organisation and more like a restaurant booking. "Are you with the Green party, madam? Right, follow me. Mr Green is already seated. May I take your coat?"

I don't know where it's all come from, but he's lately getting more and more environmentally worked up. In particular, he keeps harping on about climate change and global warming which I appreciate are very real problems but, as I put it to him the other night, should the worst come to the worst, at least when you order a pizza it will arrive hot.

He was neither consoled nor cheered. Instead, he promptly left the room, although not before turning the light off, which was nice, as I do so like sitting in the dark. And the cold. We no longer need the central heating on, apparently, because it is spring, plus, I'm informed, anyone can type in mittens if they really put their mind to it, and as for making calls in a balaclava and ear-muffs, it's the least I can do for our planet, even though I would say that the planet could do slightly more for me, like maybe baby-sit every now and then. And a little light decorating never goes amiss.

Scant sympathy

Still, it all saves energy, I guess, and energy must be saved, otherwise the world will one day run out of it, and that would be bad. I run out of energy quite frequently, as it happens, so I know what it feels like and it feels most disagreeable. You can barely stir yourself, and can't even make it to the corner shop that can be seen from the bedroom window without the car. I get scant sympathy, though. Instead, I get a lecture on using cars for short journeys. It doesn't seem to make things better when I point out that I went the long way round. Twice. And I would have gone round yet again if only I'd had the energy. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going for a lie down in front of the telly but, don't fret, I promise not to turn it up above Channel 4.

It's certainly making life horribly complicated. Our rubbish can no longer just be rubbish. It has to be divided into this rubbish and that rubbish and recyclable rubbish and non-recyclable rubbish and this paper and that paper and cans and glass and happy rubbish and sad rubbish and compost rubbish for the compost heap that we will never use because we never garden, but that's not the point, apparently.

I wouldn't mind so much but if, in a rash, devil-may-care moment, I happen to put an apple core in the non-compost bin, my partner will not only sense it, he will fish it out and wave it under my nose in a most tiresome and accusing manner. "It wasn't me," I will always say. Honesty is the best policy, by all accounts, but dishonesty is said to be considerably less damaging to the ozone layer.

Secret stash of Persil

Of course, we've now switched - at his instigation, obviously - to environment-friendly washing-up liquid, plus washing powder, and while I accept they are an improvement in some ways over the non-friendly, rather haughty ones that can push past you without so much as an excuse me, they do have their drawbacks.

The main drawback, as far as I can see, concerns the small matter of their inability to get anything clean. As such, I have been forced to keep a secret stash of Persil Magnificently Biological at the back of the wardrobe, creeping down with a small cup of it when the need arises.

I'm sorry, but I do so like my whites white, particularly as I have a son who plays cricket. Indeed, at the beginning of the season, you can tell the good mothers from the one bad mother because the good mothers will have hemmed their sons' cricket trousers while the one bad mother will have simply cut a great chunk off the end with the nail scissors.

Organic dirt and veg

The one bad mother does not want her boy to suffer the added humiliation of grass stains. As it is, the jagged-ended trousers will slowly unravel as the season progresses. The one bad mother did recently try to sew a badge on to her son's school blazer and inadvertently sewed up the breast pocket, which is now for effect only.

I have no idea who this one bad mother is, but think she deserves a nice break, possibly at a top spa, and paid for by Independent readers. Should you send the money directly to me, I will do my very utmost to locate her.

Anything else? Just one last thing: organic fruit and vegetable box schemes. Naturally, we've now signed up for one of them, and it's working out beautifully, or would be if it weren't for the swede situation. Now, a bit of swede every now and then - once every five years, say - is a very fine thing, but we often receive two a week. I believe we currently are the owners of 42 swedes as well as, come to think of it, 29 red cabbages. And the dirt! The potatoes are always really dirty, as are the carrots. Honestly, you would think that if these people were truly friends of the earth, they wouldn't want to pull so much of it up.

d.ross@independent.co.uk