great posts last week fromCeeGee, lead_tag, meggido_tell and the war is in words. They've made me go out and look at what's bad in Bristol since the crisis.

I've been a bit guilty of concentrating on the positive - of which there's been a fair bit, like the new Severn Barrage, the food rationing, the new allotments and the new, more practical teaching in our schools. I've learnt more about cooking, growing and building than I ever knew before the crisis, and I feel far less stressed out since they removed some of the exams.

But there have been consequences here that haven't been so good. Like others say, whilst some people have profitied from the crisis (like Greg's solar company) and most people have survived so far, those close to the breadline before have had their worlds pulled apart.

The number of student houses still with letting signs up is incredible - usually the streets of Redland and Clifton are packed just before christmas with students but although there's a fair few still around, they are quieter - that student loan's got to spread even further, I guess. I wonder what'll happen when I'm applying to university next year - will the whole system have changed again? I'm enjoying biology the most now - coupled with the stuff I'm learning about growing plants. It's looking like a good option to study further.

There was a report in the paper saying that a lot more students were applying to their home unis than ever before - it used to be most students would move to a different city on their parents' money but apparently there's been a big shift this year. Some kids I met on holiday in France said nearly everyone studies from their home university there, so I guess we're just catching up with the rest of Europe.

Scary stuff from around the world, especially Venezuela and the prospect of war with Iran... it's all too much. Can't we just all get along? I guess not, when the oil is running out.

There are positives though. Mum was saying it's been a long time since she heard about a car crash. I had a think then. Of all the people I know who died that weren't over 50 or in the army or something, they were almost always killed by a car crash. With people driving less, so long as we keep a decent grip on healthcare and crime, could this crisis actually reduce the number of deaths?

A lot of angry programs at the moment on the tv about the lack of oil, mostly the more infamous b-list celebrities complaining that their lifestyles been cut down. Another positive then!

We're entering a new world. There are positives and there are negatives. As oil gets less, there will be hard times. But I think as long as we're prepared to adapt, there will always be positives.

Update: As Prudent RVer linked to this article, so will I. It's a great look at how we can change things but we'll have to make a few very hard turns to do it.

[author's note: week 30. Two days to go!

A short one with my last two exams coming up. Expect tomorrow's post to be very small or missing entirely.]

We got a call a few days ago. Uncle Andy, following his injury in the tanker incident all those weeks ago, has finally been allowed to leave the middle east. He arrives today, but in London Heathrow. Greg, who's been stockpiling his maximum diesel allowance each week now that he's making good money off his solar company, agreed that he'd drive us there.

It's the first time I've been in a car in 10 weeks. The car smells musty and the diesel engine takes a few gos to start. There's dead leaves strewn across the wheel arches of most of the cars along our street. After negotiating with a neighbour who's car was blocking our path (he didn't have any fuel, we had to let go of the handbrake and push), we set off.

The motion of the car felt really unnatural after so long away and I soon felt a little sick. I ignored mum and Greg's talking and sat back to look out the window.

Bristol is actually busier than it used to be, in a way. The pavements on either side of the road are packed with people walking to work, to shop and wherever else they go.

"There's still quite a few cars," I said, surprised at the number passing us on the road. Greg shrugged in the driver seat.

"People still need to get places," he said. "It's only £1.60 a litre. It's more expensive than it used to be but it's not so much people who need to travel can't do it."

"So why haven't you been using your car much then?" I asked him. I still hadn't worked him out. Sometime he seemed so Tory, whilst othertimes he was positively liberal in his approach.

"I don't want to waste money," he said. "If I can do it from home, I'd rather not have to spend 40 quid going to work."

"And all that diesel you bought?"

"It doesn't hurt to save it up," he said. "If prices rise again, the money I spent will be tiny. It's an investment."

We fell silent again as a fire engine's sirens shrieked towards us, heading to a stack of smoke rising over St. Paul's. Greg manoeuvred out of the way - avoiding the pedestrians being harder than avoiding the cars.

Another farmer's market was in full swing in Broadmead as we entered the main shopping district. It had grown since I last saw it, and another set of roads had been closed off to accompany the throngs off people queueing for locally made food. Security checkpoints at every entrance to the market were guarded pretty heavily by the blue shirted security forces that the government's been recruiting heavily for - every other advert now is an offer to join up the security forces and bolster the police.

"Brown's determined to legislate this crisis away, isn't he?" Greg muttered. "making all these new jobs in security for all the unemployed to stop the unemployed causing trouble... pretty clever."

He sounded impressed despite himself. Maybe what he's seen on the news about the US has made him appreciate us not being controlled by ultra conservatives. We drove on. The new developments of shops at the rear of Broadmead have stopped, the cranes flopping down sadly. They looked like tired birds. A couple of places the fences had been broken down and graffiti was all over this part of town.

Then on past the Tesco superstore - heavily guarded at the gates - and onto the motorway. There were a few cars but mostly just lorries, trucking down the first two lanes of the road. A fair few of their number seemed to have police escorts who eyed us nervously as we overtook.

A lot of buses too, packed full of people gawping at any cars that passed - a fair few forlorn faces stared out at me, bags all around them as they retreated where they were going. All the signs on the road had new additions at the bottom: Drive slower and save fuel. H. M. Government.

A lot of people seemed to be following the advice. Most of the outer two lanes were going less than 50. Greg shot past a lot of them with a grin on his face.

"Shouldn't you conserve fuel?" I asked, looking at the needle going past 80 on the speedometer.

"I haven't driven in weeks," he replied. "If I'm on the road I might as well enjoy myself. Besides, the faster we go the sooner we'll get to Uncle Andy."

Motorway driving hasn't changed much, despite all that. It's still very dull, with nothing to see but grass embankments and other bored drivers and passengers. A couple of rich boy racers in cars shot past us way too fast but none of the police escorts seemed to care. I think they were just glad to see their product safe to its destination. I plugged my earphones into my solar-charged phone and started listening to music, fading out from the boredom of the M4.

I was jolted out of it an hour later as we pulled off near reading and headed towards the airport. Things were very different here. Reading's always been a massive place for commuters moving into London every day and I've heard on BBC that a ton have lost their jobs. Smoke rose in several places from the city in the distance and placards littered the side of the road, cardboard taped to fences asking for help from passers by and God. As we turned the roundabout towards the airport junction, I saw something I never expect to see.

A checkpoint had been set up leading to the 4 terminals, complete with barbed wire and temporary hut. The shocking thing as we drew up to the barrier were the two gigantic tanks on either side of us, the soldiers watching us approach and join the queue to enter the airport with mistrust. After twenty minutes slow queueing - Greg cursing the wasted fuel every time we moved forward - we reached the barrier and a soldier leaned in to check our faces.

"ID cards and reason for being here," he said to Greg. They were all armed. greg handed over our ration cards, which were swiped and passed back to us.

"We're here to collect a relative," Mum leaned over and said. "He should have arrived a few hours ago."

The soldier eyed us dubiously then waved us through.

"You've all been charged £10 and six ration credits," he said. He put a hand down to stop our protests. "It's to stop people getting in who just want to sneak onto a plane. You're allowed a free meal whilst you're in the terminal, just show them these."

We got four tickets of entry and entered the compound. The army was everywhere. I shrank down in my seat to avoid the stares of the helmeted soldiers looking at us pass. We rose over a crest and into one of the car parks.

"My god," Mum said. Greg slowed down. Nearly all the car park, and the ones we could see beyond it, had been fenced away and within them lay scores of prefabricated buildings. Guards patrolled the gates. Inside, thousands of people in ragged clothes hugged the fence, tramped across the damp asphalt, looking completely miserable.

"What are they all doing there?" I said, horrified. A girl not much older than me stared at our car passing, her eyes wide and desperate.

"Illegal Immigrants," Greg said. "I heard they were shipping them out from here."

He accelerated past the makeshift prisons and into the terminal proper. I stared, not wanting to see what I was seeing. I felt sickened. Not because they looked that mistreated - I could see a table of people being served hot food, and a tv was on in one of the buildings with everyone clustered around it. I was sickened, mainly because I found myself unable to say that they shouldn't be sent home. I was horrified to find that I didn't entirely disagree.

Greg parked and we passed another checkpoint into Heathrow. There were a few businessmen looking harried and queues of poor immigrants being herded into various destination queues, arguing with the officials in many languages. possessions and coats were piled up everywhere around families with tired, forlorn expressions on their faces. There were no normal looking passengers, no one looking excited to be getting on a plane to go spend days in the sun or visiting some foreign city. The scene looked like an airport but different.

Most of the desks were closed and many were staffed by guards rather than chirpy hostesses. We filed past the queues and into the food court. Aside from a handful of cheaper looking restaurants, everything was closed. We sat in a pizza restaurant, jostling to sit down amidst a ton of depressed Africans demanding more food for their rations from a harrassed waitress with greasy hair.

We exchanged our coupons for an order whilst mum called uncle Andy. The pizzas were small and uninviting but the strong flavoured cheese and pepperoni reminded me of cheap fast food that made me part-nostalgic and part-disgusted. I wolfed it down anyway.

Uncle Andy appeared a few minutes later, pulling a airport trolley full of luggage. He'd aged so much. His once-brown hair was greying and burn scars and bandages lined the skin on one side of his neck. One of his eyebrows had a thick gash slowly healing, barely missing his eye. One leg was still bandaged and he limped as he walked. More than that, he just looked completely drained of the enthusiasm and exuberance I associated with my favourite relative.

He saw us and his eyes lit up with that familiar sparkle. Greg came forward and shook his hand and took the trolley, whilst mum leapt on her brother to give him a concerned hug. Then he looked at me and the tiredness lifted off his face.

"Hello kiddo," he said. "Fancy seeing you here."

I launched myself at him and he folded his arms around me in a bear hug. Then he straightened, looking around the restaurant complex at the hordes of hunched-over figures shuffling towards their exit. His eyes took it all in and looked full of many sadnesses. He smiled slightly and looked at us.

"I've had enough of it," he said, watching as the African family got pulled away by one of the guards and a social worker, screaming. "Let's get out of here."

I've never been so glad to leave a place.

-Mia





[Author's note: week 19. A much more prose based entry after yesterdays mega linkage. I wanted to show some more of the UK without getting too histrionic. Uncle Andy's reappearance gave me that opportunity. I don't agree with deportation but it's chillingly realistic. I'm still trying to carve a sense of tense but managed calm in Britain.


A bit disappointed with the last few days of coverage. Things are getting far too dark considering fuel hasn't changed in price much for a long time. It got to $6.50 and stabilised - similar to modern day european prices. Whilst there's definitely going to be chaos as a result (and chaos makes for better reading) I've felt things are getting too dark too quickly lately. It's conceivable that such results could happen, but surely not so fast. I'm going to keep my writing a little bit more slow-paced until I see some major event that could change things in my part of the UK - I certainly haven't seen it yet. There's still plenty of hope that with organisation everyone can come out of this bruised and poorer but with some sense of a normal life. A lot of major companies will crash and burn and a lot of people will go bankrupt. That's not the same as an apocalypse. Even at $6, it's not so expensive that food can't arrive or fuel is prohibitive. If it was over $10, then maybe. At the moment, most of what's causing the problems seems to be panic. We can get through this, as long as we are prepared to adapt.

As I said in some of the comments, I'd love to see what's happening in the US congress and Senate about this crisis. It's looking like shaky ground for Bush even without any oil crisis - with the bunglings in America I'd be amazed if there wasn't a motion to Impeach him by now. Whilst the administration aren't perfect, there's a few senators and congressmen/women who would have tried to pass motions to make this better - and would probably have got fed up of Bush's oil-company-induced vetos. So I'm offering a challenge to American writers of wwo: show me what you're government's doing. Let's see some political reaction to all this.

UPDATE:here's a great example.]

Mum came to me with the conversation I knew was coming but dreaded all the same.

"Sit down, pet." I did, after looking desperately around for escape routes. Mum smiled nervously and perched next to me.

"You may have noticed," she said, looking anywhere but at me. "That me and Greg have been very close lately."

"Mum," I said, trying to squirm away.

"You need to hear this," she said. "Now, I know it's sudden but it's getting very difficult to pay all the bills and Greg's been very kind enough to offer us a place next door."

My jaw dropped. "You mean move in with... him?"

"Now Mia, he's a very nice man, you'll see. It'll be a bit more of a squeeze but we'll be using much less money and energy."

"No," I said, standing up to get away from her "I don't want a new dad! I like my real dad!"

"He's not replacing your father," mum said.

"Yes he is!" I was screaming by now. "You want to take Dad out of my life."

"Mia!" Mum was shouting now too. She never shouts, and it quietened me. Her eyes were fierce. "I wouldn't do this unless I absolutely had to." she pointed to the electricity bill on the wall. "We're running out of money. If I pay that bill and the rent this month, we'll have no money for food. I like Greg but the most important thing is that he has a lot of things that can save our family. He has his own power, and you've seen how many solar gadgets his work has given him."

I thought back to the solar radio he gave me for my birthday, and the phone charger I've been using so much.

"We need this," Mum said. "I'm not going to let you kids go hungry."

In the end I nodded mutely and the dreaded conversation was over. I stomped upstairs and started to pack.

#

I feel angry. I feel like I've been training all my life for a world that no longer exists. All I've ever done has been rendered meaningless by the greed of the people that came before me. After this, there's no going back. The generations of people before me have taken all that was good and spent it, as quick as they could, leaving young people like me looking back at the riches we were born too late to share.

I'm tired of eating rice with stock and frozen vegetables, of a fraction of a chicken breast in my curry, of walking to the shops to find the shelves empty. It's been 13 weeks since the start of this crisis and seven since I noticed something was happening. And I want to know why.

I want to know why the people who could have done something about this didn't. I want to know why the people with all the money, who could afford the most to give a little of their own up, were the ones that protested against any changes the most. I want to know why when the companies that profited from the oil business knew about the crisis, they didn't try to change the way they did things. I want to know why even now, many of them still drive their fast cars and ignore those suffering, whilst they still make profit.

the terrible blackouts reported across the coasts of America got me a little freaked out. i decided to do some investigation into what powers Bristol and how likely it is we'll lose power.

The positive news: we won't. Bristol is lucky enough to have nearby Oldbury Nuclear Power Station, which can provide 'enough electricity to meet the needs of a city one and a half times the size of Bristol'.

The bad news? Oldbury power station is scheduled to close next year. Whilst we're safe for the coming weeks, it doesn't look like our haven of power will last forever. Still, with hundreds of trucks like this one:



carrying wind turbine blades towards the hills of Wales all over the news, maybe we'll be ok. I also got troubling links to questions over electricity and computer servers - If the power continues to go out, It looks like we might struggle to keep the Internet running as fast as we do - which is really dangerous to projects like wwo, which has saved so much of my optimism the last few weeks.

[author note: week 13]