World’s first carbon neutral bra.
The world’s first carbon neutral bra, made in a factory run on solar panels, has been launched onto the fashion market with hopes that all clothing will be more environmentally friendly in future.
The Marks and Spencer (M&S) lingerie set, that will be available online, was made in an ‘eco factory’ in Sri Lanka where energy has been reduced a third through measures like making sure all lighting is from the sun or low energy light bulbs.
It is powered by hydroelectricity produced on a nearby river and solar panels on the roof.
The rest of the carbon dioxide produced in making the bra will be offset by planting 6,000 trees in the community every year. Most of the trees will be native to Sri Lanka, therefore boosting wildlife. A quarter will be fruit trees that can generate money for the local community.
The Carbon Trust Footprinting Certification Company has calculated the carbon used in making the bra and will monitor the project to ensure emissions are cut.
Jesus fucking wept.
The scheme will also help wildlife. Sri Lanka’s forests are home to approximately 90 per cent of the country’s endemic species but are disappearing at a rate of 1.6 per cent per year.
M&S are working with the Conservation Carbon Company to help local farmers replant trees so that what is left of the rainforest in southern Sri Lanka can be reconnected again via ‘green corridors’. This allows wildlife such as the slender loris and green vine snake to move around. The local farmers are helped to develop sustainable agriculture harvesting fruit and timber.
Mike Barry, Head of Sustainable Business at M&S, said the retailer will be trying to make more clothing carbon neutral in future and expecting other companies to follow suite.
“We don’t want green, eco-friendly products to be in a ghetto in the corner, we should be making all products more environmentally friendly,” he said.
I honestly don’t know where to start. OK, start simple Nick and work up to the Götterdämmerung. First off the lass on the right – that don’t work. She’s way too buxom for a strapless number. OK, got that off my er… chest. The sad truth I was trying to avoid is that it will find buyers.
How do I know that? Because I’ve met the sort of people who would buy that sort of thing. I once had a flatmate called Martin. Martin was a twat. Sorry, Mart but there is no other way of putting it. He was very Green. He was so Green that he sent off for the Green party manifesto and then didn’t read it. I did. So did the rest of our flat and we concluded (this was c.1996) that whilst hitherto we’d regarded Greens as lentil boiling socks’n'sandals cranks they were actually extremely nasty. As I said Mart didn’t read it and in the end it was recycled which is fitting in a sense.
Now Mart wasn’t a hit with the ladies. I once saw him come out of the bathroom starkers but for a towel wrapped around his organs of generation and elimination. Another of my flatmates said, “Oi, Sabu the elephant-boy!” He was the spitting double of Mowgli despite being white British and from near Sheffield (which is nothing to be proud about). Anyway we must now enter stage-left a Canadian. Jamie was a nice guy. He was from Vancouver. He had a cavalcade of Canucks dossing on his floor. First was The Noah and then The Gayle. For some reason these West Coast Canucks felt the need to address each other using the definite article – a night on the Stella with The Jamie was a most excellent adventure if you catch my drift. The Noah was a sound chap who stood his round and could usually be found, “Watching the game (it didn’t matter what) having a beer” but The Gayle was something else…
I have no idea what form of financial support the friends of Jamie had. In short I basically have no freaking idea what they did or where the money came from. The Noah was a sort of force of nature. The Gayle was nature. Shortly before pitching-up in London she had spent six months living in a treehouse in British Columbia protesting about something. Anyway Green Mart was smitten from first sight. Utterly. He got nowhere of course despite cooking her a vegan curry to general derision. Now don’t get me wrong here. My wife is vegan but veganism is not the point. It was the procession of the vegetables that caused the derision. These involved a “baby aubergine”. Apparently The Gayle said, “Oh isn’t it so cute, can I hold it?” (she spoke entirely in italics all the fucking time) I wasn’t there but my flattie Sid told me afterwards. I’m glad I wasn’t there because I’d probably have lost control of various bodily functions that are not the done thing to lose control of in company. Certainly not in front of Canadians. I’m English. I have standards.
So, my point is if this silliness from M&S had been on the market back when Mart was trying to seduce The Gayle it is exactly the sort of thing he would have bought her. Maybe then he would have got at least tops and fingers. As it was he got fuck all. Not even a kiss. After having known The Gayle for 48 hours though he did tell me (this was just after the aubergine incident) that she, “Was the most important woman he’d ever met, ever”. You see, he saw life through a different lens. Most don’t pretend sexual attractiveness is something it isn’t but not Mart. He saw attractiveness purely in terms of righteousness rather than the thing in itself. Now show me a picture of Dita von Teese in the nip and I’m like “Yeah!”. Show Mart the same picture and he’d probably mumble something about it being “exploitative” and then shamble off to his room for a wank. But if you made some pony up about how Ms von Teese’s burlesque shows were “carbon-neutral” the likes of Mart would wax lyrical – and then also go off for a wank. But a righteous wank this time.
But forget about Mart! And Dita, alas! I must here air my Unified Field Theory of Frilly Things. Most things are sold as commodities in a sense. A litre of milk costs more than half a litre. This does not apply to underwear. Imagine it’s December 23rd and you are in Central Manchester and you have to buy a Crimble prezzie for the missus. Underwear always works. Now you can spend a lot at Harvey Nicks or Selfridges on “Love, Kylie” or “Elle MacPherson ‘Intimates’” or you can buy five panties for a tenner at Primark. One of those paths is a false economy. One of those will have you kipping on the sofa ’till Easter if you are fucking lucky. My point here is that lingerie is an inverse commodity. The more you pay the less (by mass) you tend to get. It is not at all like pig iron or pork bellies (thank God!). So on the general assumption that in terms of carbon footprint and resource depletion and all that jazz then the more expensive the underwear the better surely? On every count! For the planet, for the prospect of a blow-job, for not sleeping on the sofa for months! And surely getting divorced is a hell of a thing for your carbon footprint.
But that’s my take. Mart probably has a different one. And next Winterval some “lucky” lady will unwrap her carbon neutral knickers and bra and swoon before engaging in deeply unfulfilling sex with the miserable sod. And he was a miserable sod and a hypocrite. The only shag he got that year was with another of my homies – Alison. Subsequently I got to know Alison quite well. After a few drinkies we got to talking about our shag lists. She rated herself as as 3/2*. “A half!” I ejaculated. “Yeah, that was Martin, you couldn’t exactly call that sex!” No, I guess not seeing as he was the sort of bloke who tented his pants over a dimwitted Canuck who wanted to carry a baby aubergine from flat 32 to flat 24.
Last I heard Sid and Alison were happily living together in North London and she was a corporate lawyer and he was an oil engineer. I, inadvertently, almost ended that but the tale of the Canadian ribbed condom can keep. That was yet another Canadian for a start. The gaff was wick with moose-fuckers. We used to play poker and I still find fucking Canadian cents in my penny jar 15 years later.
So how did Mart get to 1/2 Alison? They were both Brahms and Liszt and he chatted her up on the basis purely that she was a vegetarian. He only later found out she also voted Tory… This amused Alison enormously. Mart simply couldn’t get his head around the idea that a vegetarian could be relatively “right wing”. I guess he should have met Hitler – they would have got on like a house on fire. Both being leftie beyond comprehension.
But there is a condom story I have to tell. And it hales from York and not Vancouver. Mart showed me his stash of johnnies (no, not like that – he was straight) but in a spirit of “chappishness”. You know where he got ‘em from? Ensure you are near a toilet now. They were a parting gift from his ex-girlfriend from York. Now I’ve had exs and by and large the parting gift is X-rated lingo both ways and not accessories for your future conquests. Real people break-up with foul language. Mart broke up with condoms. If I live to 113 I will not understand that.
But it is exactly the mentality of the buyer of carbon neutral bras. Exactly. It is about being terribly liberal about sex by not exactly being genuinely liberal but taking the easy route which is thinking it just doesn’t matter. That it is just something us carbon-neutral animals can’t help ourselves from doing.
And that is not the way I look at it. I’m pretty liberal on the shagging but only because I know it can mean more than the world just in and of itself. Things don’t have to be defined to matter. And when I take off my wife’s bra I do not care about the carbon neutrality. I am not Mart. He’d get the righteous horn (though I am told he is hung like a Chinese mouse) if it was a “carbon-neutral bra” but me? Me! I just like tits. And whilst for shopping purposes I know what her technical size is but for groping purposes I think in terms of old money and the utterly “carbon whatever” that is the BSH – The British Standard Handful. I like tits. I’m a non-gay bloke. Do I have to explain? Moreover if I had to think like that I would have the pitiful hit rate of Martin. I have seen (and handled) some beautiful breasts in my time. I have never got my paws on “carbon neutral” ones because a slap in the face generally brings sexual antics to a halt. Clue one is that if you get a girl’s bra off then you have arrived! By definition they gotta be exceptional or you are wasting your time and you wouldn’t want to do that! The same applies to lesbians. I mean real lesbians who like girls and not lezzas who are doing it as a deranged political statement. I like lesbians. I have actually had sex with at least one. She regarded the Guardian as right-wing but she had great tits and really good dope so I forgave her for it.
And she had the tightest cunny parts of any chaos theorist I ever shagged. (Un)fortunately that places her in a set of one.
I guess I now have to go and knit my wife some knickers out of grass and then make up a bed on the sofa.
Rejected post titles include: “Titiful!”, “Titter ye not!” and “Penny Bizarre”.
*I’m a physicist by training so I use vulgar fractions.