John Elkington

Pawprint in Roman tile Legionnaire and spinner Cherub riding dolphin Seahorse mosaic

Day started with a visit to Fishbourne Roman ‘Palace’, which delivered an unexpected pleasure, in that I have been reading Poseidon’s Steed: The Story of Seahorses, From Myth to Reality, by Helen Scales, and there in one of the best-known Roman mosaics in the country was an unmistakable seahorse – albeit allowing for a little poetic licence on the part of those who laid the floor.

River fronds Skyscape 1 Skyscape 2 Skyscape 3: where Catholics prayed for generations, at some peril Garden bugler Chairs Damsel in repose Convocation Skyscape 4 Skyscape 5

We drove south to Midhurst in Sussex today, walking around the town and stumbling on the ruins of Cowdray House. I had known of its role in history in Tudor times – but had no idea that this is where it was. A wonderfully kept site, but a pretty tragic history at times, what with the fire that reduced the great house to ruins in 1793, and the death by drowning of an  heir around the same time. Not sure I believe the story of a curse laid upon the family during the dissolution of the monasteries, that they would be destroyed by fire and water, but it provides a neat hook on which to hang the tragedies.

Later in the afternoon, we arrived at the house where we were to stay, set in woodland, found with the good services of one of Alastair Sawday‘s invaluable guides, only to find the owners in turmoil, she having reacted badly to treatment with monoclonal antibodies. As they headed off to the hospital, we settled in. I had looked the place up on Google Earth and seen a huge quarry nearby, but there was no sense of it from the house itself – and the landscape around here is wonderful. Thank heavens they have declared it part of the country’s latest National Park, including, apparently, the sand ridge into which the quarry has been digging.

Some of Tim’s cucumbers Maple keys – where the Bramley used to stand Pat at Burford Garden Centre Lavender bed

Spent the first two days of my week off at Hill House, with my parents, beginning to decompress. Saw quite a bit of Tessa and her boys, who were there, too. Among other things, took Caroline to the Borzoi bookshop in Stow-on-the-Wold and drove Pat across to the Burford garden centre. Slowing down made me realise just how much of an adrenaline junkie I am at times. What an oasis this has been.

  

It often strikes me–and others–as I report on my travels in this blog series that I love a remarkably privileged live. It also strikes me that the air travel component is something that future generations will not be able to enjoy unless there is an unforeseen breakthrough in carbon-neutral flight. Reading Helen Simpson’s wonderful collection of short stories a few days back, called In-Flight Entertainment, I was reminded of this concern by her story Ahead of the Pack.

In it, a personal carbon emissions consultant says something rather memorable about photograph albums. Given the pace of climate change, he notes, and the first bit of this is something I have often said, the world will be looking around for scapegoats. “Children will be accusing parents, and wise parents will have disappeared all visual evidence of Dad’s gap year in South America and Mum on Ayers Rock and the whole gang over in Florida waiting in line to shake Mickey’s hand.”

Both at SustainAbility and at Volans, we have long offset our carbon emissions, in many cases doubling our offsets and asking clients to do likewise. But, as I argued when we started perhaps 9 or 10 years ago, this really has been a bit like the medieval indulgences that were meant absolve you from your sins. So then the only excuse I’m left with is that the work we do when we get to the other end is God’s work–well, good work at least. But In-Flight Entertainment has picked at an uncomfortable scab.

Filmed in the garden, with Amy and Adrian (who we found through Gaia) Carried Westward panorama from Docklands

I was heavily pollinated by one of the lime trees in the garden at 2 Bloomsbury Place today as we filmed a series of sequences for our Allianz project and for our website. The magnolia is back in flower, to a degree, too, which is lovely.

The team came together several times early in the week to interview potential new members – and there was steady stream of people through the office, including Lily Lapenna of MyBnk and Nelmara Arbex of the Global Reporting Initiative (GRI). We also made significant progress on a slight restructuring of Volans, which was voted through during a breakfast session to celebrate the beginning of Charmian’s maternity leave.

On Thursday, I had an interesting lunch at the RAC Club, having been offered as a ‘Prize’ at a charity auction at Cranfield University. Lunch hosted by David Grayson, who holds the Chair at the Doughty Centre for Corporate Responsibility.

That night, I was meant to be at a reception at Clarence House, but got distracted at the office and instead trolled along to Fortnum & Mason for the first dinner for those taking part in the new International Integrated Reporting Committee (IIRC), which is being co-evolved by Prince Charles’s Accounting for Sustainability and the GRI.

Perfectly horrid trip to Canary Wharf on Friday morning, for the first IIRC meeting, hosted by HSBC on the 41st floor of their skyscraper in Canada Square. Jubilee Line was shut down when I got to Waterloo – and London Underground staff in combination of baffled, confused and Kafka-esque mood. Misdirected a number of times, it felt as if I were an ant in a maze that kept being tiled by some malevolent power. Eventually made my way via Embankment, Tower Hill and the Docklands Light Railway. Sequence of mishaps continued then a large group of schoolchildren were shoe-horned into the DLR coach, when we eventually managed to find one that wasn’t bursting at the gills, and we were trapped inside – so we couldn’t get off when Canary Wharf eventually hove in view.

Still, a fair few people were late for the meeting, which was held around a boardroom table on which you could easily have landed a 747, with plenty of room for taxying. Around 40 people took part in a very amicable and productive set of discussions – and the view was breath-taking. The Tube worked on the way back to Bloomsbury, but if I had come across anyone responsible for specifying Underground signals, I would have been sorely tempted to drag them to Tyburn in a handcart.