Boosting green entrepreneurs

Sian Berry argues the slow growth in green industries demonstrates more action is needed

It’s amazing how slowly things happen sometimes. This week I visited Pli Design, one of a growing number of green manufacturing companies in south east London, at their workshop in Dulwich. While we filmed a short report on business policy for the local news, the owner, Christopher Pett, told me how he imagined, when they started making sustainable furniture in 2003, that they would be jumping onto the back of a well-filled bandwagon. In fact what he found was that he was joining a very small group of business people who can only be described as pioneers.

The slow growth in green industries means unfortunate gaps in the supply chain, too. When looking for an alternative to formaldehyde-filled MDF, Chris found that he couldn’t source eco-friendly, waste straw fibre, compostable fibreboard from anywhere in this country. No company in the UK was able to supply him, so importing materials from China was the only option. This is a shame when we’re not exactly short of waste straw in this country and could easily make what he needs closer to home.

What we do have, however, is lots of old, unwanted games consoles, leading to what I found the most exciting of Pli’s products. The ‘Reee’ chair has been made possible by the European WEEE Directive, which means producers of electronic equipment have to collect back old products at the same time as filling the world with new gadgets.

The plastic casings from games machines are an ideal raw material for the back and seat of the Reee chair. Being a ‘pure’ material, in contrast to most plastic collected for recycling from households (which is mixed up with all kinds of other bits and pieces) its mechanical and aesthetic properties are known precisely. And, while the plastic’s flame retardant content is too low to meet regulations for new games consoles, it has excellent fireproofing by office chair standards.

The reason I’m so excited by this is that it’s a great example of real re-cycling, not the down-cycling you get with mixed collections, which means recycled products are often lower-grade and lower-tech than the original product. And, because the material is kept pure while making the chairs, it can be used again for a similar grade product in the future. This is fantastic stuff, but in one way it’s also quite depressing. William McDonough and Michael Braungart’s inspiring book ‘Cradle to Cradle’ was published back in 2002, but this is the first time I’ve actually met with a business that is really putting their principles into practice.

The fact is we’re changing things far too slowly, which is why I’m hoping my campaign for the London elections this year can do more to help businesses like Pli to grow, and help more businesses working in green manufacturing to spring up right across the city.

The major problems these companies face is the availability and cost of premises, and the difficulty - as a small company - of securing contracts to supply larger businesses and public bodies. The new planning rules I propose, which will require workshops and office to be made available at affordable rents in new developments, will see opportunities increased for start-up businesses. And to help them grow, I am proposing a central hub that will compile joint bids for larger contracts from a range of smaller, local businesses.

Providing this service will solve problems for both buyers and suppliers. For the small businesses, it’s risky to rely heavily on one customer, so a clearing house that spreads the risk across a range of contracts is ideal. On the other side, buyers for public bodies and large companies may want to support smaller companies, but may be put off by the complexities of setting up multiple contracts – problems which are also eased by having a central point of contact.

These plans are integral to building a better economy for London. The problem is that we are far too reliant on a small number of large companies for employment, and far too reliant on cheap oil to import almost everything we consume. By helping companies like Pli and building up a more diverse economy, we are also building an economy that will be more resilient to whatever problems develop in our current major industries. After all, what are the Greens for, if not building a more secure future?

Sian Berry lives in Kentish Town and was previously a principal speaker and campaigns co-ordinator for the Green Party. She was also their London mayoral candidate in 2008. She works as a writer and is a founder of the Alliance Against Urban 4x4s
Getty
Show Hide image

The dog at the end of the lead may be small, but in fact what I’m walking is a hound of love

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel.

There is a new, hairy face in the Hovel. I seem to have become a temporary co-owner of an enthusiastic Chorkie. A Chorkie, in case you’re not quite up to speed with your canine crossbreeds, is a mixture of a chihuahua and a Yorkshire Terrier, and while my friend K— busies herself elsewhere I am looking after this hound.

This falls squarely into the category of Things I Never Thought I’d Do. I’m a cat person, taking my cue from their idleness, cruelty and beauty. Dogs, with their loyalty, their enthusiasm and their barking, are all a little too much for me, even after the first drink of the day. But the dog is here, and I am in loco parentis, and it is up to me to make sure that she is looked after and entertained, and that there is no repetition of the unfortunate accident that occurred outside my housemate’s room, and which needed several tissues and a little poo baggie to make good.

As it is, the dog thinks I am the bee’s knees. To give you an idea of how beeskneesian it finds me, it is licking my feet as I write. “All right,” I feel like saying to her, “you don’t have to go that far.”

But it’s quite nice to be worshipped like this, I have decided. She has also fallen in love with the Hovel, and literally writhes with delight at the stinky cushions on the sofa. Named after Trude Fleischmann, the lesbian erotic photographer of the Twenties, Thirties and Forties, she has decided, with admirable open-mindedness, that I am the Leader of the Pack. When I take the lead, K— gets a little vexed.

“She’s walking on a loose lead, with you,” K— says. “She never does that when I’m walking her.” I don’t even know what that means, until I have a think and work it out.

“She’s also walking to heel with you,” K— adds, and once again I have to join a couple of mental dots before the mists part. It would appear that when it comes to dogs, I have a natural competence and authority, qualities I had never, not even in my most deranged flights of self-love, considered myself to possess in any measurable quantity at all.

And golly, does having a dog change the relationship the British urban flâneur has with the rest of society. The British, especially those living south of Watford, and above all those in London, do not recognise other people’s existence unless they want to buy something off them or stop them standing on the left of the sodding escalator, you idiot. This all changes when you have a dog with you. You are now fair game for any dog-fancier to come up to you and ask the most personal questions about the dog’s history and genealogy. They don’t even have to have a dog of their own; but if you do, you are obliged by law to stop and exchange dog facts.

My knowledge of dog facts is scant, extending not much further beyond them having a leg at each corner and chasing squirrels, so I leave the talking to K—, who, being a friendly sort who could probably talk dog all day long if pressed, is quite happy to do that. I look meanwhile in a kind of blank wonder at whichever brand of dog we’ve just encountered, and marvel not only at the incredible diversity of dog that abounds in the world, but at a realisation that had hitherto escaped me: almost half of London seems to have one.

And here’s the really interesting thing. When I have the leash, the city looks at me another way. And, specifically, the young women of the city. Having reached the age when one ceases to be visible to any member of the opposite sex under 30, I find, all of a sudden, that I exist again. Women of improbable beauty look at Trude, who looks far more Yorkie than chihuahua, apart from when she does that thing with the ears, and then look at me, and smile unguardedly and unironically, signalling to me that they have decided I am a Good Thing and would, were their schedules not preventing them, like to chat and get to know me and the dog a bit better.

I wonder at first if I am imagining this. I mention it to K—.

“Oh yes,” she says, “it’s a thing. My friend P-J regularly borrows her when he wants to get laid. He reckons he’s had about 12 shags thanks to her in the last six months. The problems only arise when they come back again and notice the dog isn’t there.”

I do the maths. Twelve in six months! That’s one a fortnight. An idea begins to form in my mind. I suppose you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to work out what it is. But no. I couldn’t. Could I?

Nicholas Lezard is a literary critic for the Guardian and also writes for the Independent. He writes the Down and Out in London column for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism