This journal, miawithoutoil was formed as a fictional component of the World Without Oil project, documenting 32 weeks of a global oil crisis. Each day of livejournal posts corresponds to a week in the life of Mia, a young girl in Bristol England as oil prices soar and society creaks under the strain.

To truly enjoy this story, you have to start at the bottom of the second page, as the first entry in this diary is also the last of the story. Alternatively, below is a link to each story in order to aid easier reading.

Mia Without Oil:

1. 'The first time I noticed'
2. 'No fuel day'
3. 'Blackouts and tanker crashes'
4. 'Speaking to Dad, Uncle Andy and shouting Out'
5. 'Cheap cars'
6. 'Staying positive and a new Prime Minister'
7. 'The world isn't all bad - But what can I do in it?'
8. 'A walk through the city and a lecture'
9. 'Concern for a friend and coming Of age in a world without oil'
10. 'Moving, but not far'
11. 'A lack of food and an overabundance of trouble'
12. 'UK goes back in time, starts rationing'
13. 'Our first ration shop and Dad's silly reaction to it all'
14. 'To the slow food market with my rations!'
15. 'The news we're getting from across the pond is worrying me'
16. 'A journey'
17. 'Uncle Andy and the Middle East'
18. 'Slow changes'
19. 'Coping in the UK'
20. 'On conspiracy theories and why this happened'
21. 'Some fun photos and a challenge!'
22. 'A new direction'
23. 'Dad, New Zealand and an unexpected twist'
24. 'New lives for a new world'
25. 'The crossing paths of two netizens' 26. 'We're not there yet, people'
27. 'The individual doesn't matter'
28. 'The Future'

I hope readers enjoy this look at a world that could be closer than we realise. If you enjoyed my work you can also now find me blogging for Futurismic or reviewing for SFCrowsnest. My short story, 'The Shogun and The Scientist' will be published in the anthology 'The Awakening' in January 2008.

(posted this on my blogger account first due to livejournal issues. Here's the last post, to complete the story. Took me ages to get livejournal to accept this...)

July, 2019

Mia wiped her brow in the early summer heat, leaving a streak of brown earth across her face from the land beneath her feet. She dusted off her skirt and put the last of the vegetables into the wicker basket and headed out of the allotments. It was midsummer and many of the little vegetable gardens were alive with produce.

She rushed up to the stop just in time to squeeze onto the tram as it reached the top of Whiteladies Road. As always, the electric trolleybus was full of students, shoppers and those like Mia who had an allotment on the Downs. She flashed her ration card across the conductor's reader and grabbed a handrail as the tram lurched onwards.

The market was busy, as ever, full of ramshackle stalls and semi-permanent shops where the cars once drove. Security walked prominently amongst the crowds of shoppers, subtle but conspicuously watching. Little boys chased in amongst the stalls, enjoying their fun whilst their holidays were on.

Mia lived in Clifton, in a house that had once been one tall Georgian home but after heavy retrofits was now occupied by four couples. she entered the kitchen/living space and put the basket of fruit and veg on the counter. She reminded herself to make sure she had enough electricity rations to use more than two rings on the hob.

She splashed some water onto her face and called into the flat's only other room.

"Alex?" she said. "You done with the computer?"

"Sure," came the reply. "You logging onto work?"

She went into the bedroom and put her arms around her husband's shoulders as he logged off his workstation and got up to let her use the computer. She gave him a long kiss welcome.

"Thanks," she said. "How'd work go?"

"Alright," he said, scratching his neck. "We're getting close to having enough people signed on to make the panels now."

"Excellent," she said, giving him another kiss. "I'll let you know when I'm done."

"That's ok love," he said. "I've got to go check out the shipment of raw materials makes it here safe. I'll see you later."

"'K." She watched him leave, his powerful body distracting her.

Alex had been American most of his life, although he now tried to hide it. His English parents had sent him to university in Bristol with the last of their savings after the third oil crash. After the fourth, they came to the UK to join him permanently.

Mia had met him at university. He studied engineering, she did biochemistry. They were both part of the students wing of the local energy conservation project. They got to talking and then to other things. When he finished university, Alex went to work for Greg's local solar company. After Greg died in the Bird Flu epidemic of 2016, Alex took over the company, trying to encourage local craftsmen to build the panels in small batches, using the bare minimum of imported materials.

She logged on to the power-saving computer - a small lcd screen and a low powered processor to use as little energy as possible. She checked her emails. A few related to her work on the ecosystem of the new Severn barrage - she was trying to cultivate a family of fish that would be farmable and help solve the silting of the reservoir. There was also one from Uncle Andy.

"What trouble are you in now?" she wondered. Andy had gotten more and more into the open source drug scene, an underground movement to reverse engineer medications and release them as creative commons licensed recipes for anyone to use. Needless to say the drug companies heavily clamped down on it, and now Andy was having to dance around their checks, again.

'sorry kiddo,' the letter read 'looks like we're under the cosh here again for a few months - nothing more than potatoes and sheep on the farm, I promise! It means your little delivery isn't going to make it, I'm afraid. Lots of Love, Andy.'

That made her sit up and take notice. Her 'little delivery' was her contraceptive pill - far cheaper by open source than what it costed from the government, even if they did try to push it on everyone to reduce the population targets. The government pill didn't suit her - gave her cramps. This was going to be a pain. She put the thought to one side and read over the days reports from the students working at the reservoir. The barrage was soon to open and they'd been trying out a number of breeds of fish in small enclosures to see which survived the best.

Rapidly absorbed in her work, she was only stirred by the blinking light that told her the power credit for the computer was running out. She saved her work and let the screen power down silently. No point in wasting any more rations - she could do the rest by hand.

Alex returned. She put a finger to her lips and led him out to the window of the living room. He frowned.

"What?"

"Alex," she said, "what do you feel about a child?"

His look was stunned. She explained the situation with the birth control.

"But you've never wanted to bring a child into the world before," he said. "You've always said this world is too dangerous to bring a new life into."

Mia looked out of the window with Alex's arm around her, thinking about the events since the first oil spike. She thought about the Iran war and the bombing of Jerusalem. About Alex's stories of the corn famine in Alberta, when the biofuel crisis kickstarted the third oil crash and the breakup of the USA. She thought about the clashes between Cascadia and the remaining states, about the billions starving across the world. She thought about her mother and Greg and nursing them during the flu crisis, and their deaths. About the flooding of Bangladesh and the electricity riots of 2013.

Then she looked around at the small but comfortable house and the husband she shared it with. She looked at the streets, empty of traffic, where kids played in the road and every house had something growing. She thought of the barrage and the power it was going to supply, as well as the food from the fish. She thought about Alex's work with fitting locally made solar panels on local roofs, and the vast number of local businesses thriving in their own little ways.

A dark shape appeared in the sky, sending a shadow down onto the streets. They watched as the supply airship drifted languidly into view, fresh from dropping off important components and materials such as those Alex needed. Its vast helium balooon meandered lazily across the sky, heading back to its home port slowly but using very little fuel. The underslung cabin caught the dimming sunlight, glowing deep red as it passed over the city and out towards the Atlantic. Mia turned away from the window.

"You know," she said. "I think we're ready."

"Really?" Alex didn't look convinced.

"Yeah," she said. "We've lived in a world without oil for 12 years, with all this doom and destruction but we've survived. Our life isn't rich compared to what my parents had, or yours. But it's rich enough. This world's not perfect, but it's ours. I think we're ready to bring a new life into it."

"Ok," Alex said. He hugged her and turned towards the kitchen table. "I traded some of our potatoes for some quinoa the airship brought in. You want that tonight?"

"Sure," Mia said, "that sounds good."

She moved away from the window, and the moment was gone.


[author's note: week 32 (or 632, if you like)

I've been planning this for a while - a look into the future without oil (does that count as the letter 'f'?). I want to end it with a cautiously hopeful note. There is a world out there without oil where people can live their lives. It won't be as material rich as ours and it may take a lot of struggle to get there. But ultimately, we will get there, because we must.

I just want to say how much I've enjoyed the experience of wwo and a big round of applause for all the guys running the site and everyone contributing. Together we created a world. That's a hell of an achievement - and I hope that it leaves our real world a little more informed and aware than it was before. I hope so.]

I forget to say! Remember last week when we said goodbye to Uncle Andy, and he put something into my coat pocket? I didn't want to look with mum and greg there and when I got home the email from lucy1965 got me too excited and I forgot about it. Then a comment from inky_jewel reminded me. I rushed to my coat pocket to find a note from Uncle Andy, and wrapped up inside of it, 6 £50 notes! To me that's an absolute fortune - as much as I'd make in a few months saturday work! The note read:

'Mia,

Here's something to keep you going. Don't worry too much - the oil company is paying for it! Buy something nice but don't spend too much of it - you could be very glad of it over the next few months.

Good luck with school. Keep working. Hopefully when I see you next the farm will be starting to produce some food!

If you ever need me, I'll be here.
Lots of love

Uncle Andy'

It took a little bit of willpower but I only ended up spending ten pounds of it. With Mum and Greg both working from home the computer's been in use most of the time so the time to post these messages has been few and far between. I decided I'd go and get something to write in during the day that I could then copy up. I came up with this:



It's a leather bound, acid-free paper Moleskin, like the one Hemingway used to use! It opens up to have a surprising number of pages, which I've been writing my journal entries in when we've run out of power rations!



Later in the week, I got to finally meet lucy1965! she sent a message saying she'd landed in Cardiff and we arranged somewhere to meet for lunch. I knew mum wouldn't understand, so I slipped out and told her I was going to Lindsey's.

I wandered down to the juice bar on Cotham Hill, which despite being a tiny place was still going strong through the crisis. All that local organic produce is good for business.

"Mia!" A lady with greying brown hair worn up in hairsticks came over to me as soon as I entered. She smiled and her face dimpled. She hugged me with a warmth that seemed like I'd known her forever.

"Hi!" she said, after we'd ordered and sat to wait for our drinks. "The train was a nightmare, it's nice to sit down. So how are you? Did your dad wind up in New Zealand?"

"He left last week," I said. "He rang to say he'd got there ok - obviously whatever strings Emma - that's his new wife - pulled, they worked, they're into the country. I'm just glad I'm not there. I couldn't leave Bristol."

Our drinks arrived - A pot of tea between us and two rich juices, mostly of locally harvested berries. Lucy sipped at hers and her eyes sparkled.

"Mmm!" She said. "Someone's doing something right around here! How do you think things are going in Bristol? I know what the papers say; I want to hear what you think."

"It's ok," I swung my legs subconsciously, enjoying the taste of blackberries and raspberries. "I mean, we don't seem to be struggling like some people are saying. There's nothing here too bad - lots of crime in St Paul's, lots of homeless people. But all the poor people has its upsides - there's hardly anyone out drinking the night away anymore, so there's far less fights! The police keep saying a lot of the time they have less to deal with - even if it's more serious when something happens."

Our food was brought over by the student serving behind the counter, who was dressed in a lovely pastel coloured skirt and a massive smile that made me jealous. I had lovely hot quesadillas and Lucy had a quinoa and courgette salad. It was, needless to say, gorgeous.

I hummed along to the jack johnson tune playing in the background. Lucy noticed.

"What bands are you listening to?" She asked. "I ask not for me, for I am approaching senility, but David and Emily aren't familiar with the music here."

"Same as everywhere I guess," I said. "A lot of American stuff though - a lot of the British bands these days sound like Rolling Stones clones. The cheap internet downloads means you can listen to pretty much anything, but there's hardly any foreign bands on tour in the Uk anymore."

"So any names I should be dropping?"

"A lot of angry stuff," I admitted, "Punk like Anti-flag, Greenday, The Hold Steady, Biffy Clyro... but then once I've got my anger out things like Iron and Wine, Sigur Ros, Appleseed Cast, Explosions In The Sky... pretty ambient stuff. There's British ones too - Radiohead, Mogwai, Oceansize... After all that revolutionary music I need something to cool me down!"

"Radiohead, Greenday and Sigur Ros I recognize -- I don't know if you're familiar with Christopher O'Riley's transcriptions of Radiohead for classical solo piano? Remind me with an e-mail and I'll send you a .zip file with a copy; you might find some of it interesting -- but the rest I don't know."

"Sounds good!" I said. I was surprised to see her actually write some of the names down - I hope it goes down well with her kids or there'll be hell to pay! She looked at my steaming cup of Earl Gray and the other people in the cafe drinking hot drinks.

"How the hell is England still getting tea?"

I laughed and sipped at the magical green stuff. "I don't know, I guess our need is great enough! It's not as if it goes off - they probably just ship on massive slow boats from India."

"True," she said. "We've been having trouble holding onto coffee but that stuff goes off much quicker -- some of my friends have had a very difficult time coming off their morning mocha fix. NOT pleasant to watch!"

''seriously," I said, leaning forward across the table, "how is it in the US? We’ve been getting such mixed reports.''

"Remember, love, we're talking about a very large country, and the situation varies state to state: it's rather like saying 'How is it in Africa?'" She stopped smiling then. "Overall? The worst of the violence is past. People are starting to come out of the shock and realizing that they have a LOT of work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. An inherent suspicion of the Federal government is a deep-seated part of the American psyche -- there are enough people left who remember the Japanese-American internment camps that only the very desperate have gone to the FEMA settlements -- and so no one's expecting anyone from Washington to step in and straighten things out.

“Unfortunately that means a lot of duplication of effort, all around the country, and if the winter's bad --" She stopped and sipped at her tea. "A lot more people are going to die before things stabilize. Spring's going to be hard: we're only a handful of generations removed from farming, most of us, but that's time enough for a lot to be lost. The whole culture's changed in only 50 years, and parts of it are going to have to change back much more quickly."

'Do you already have a house lined up? Do you have a garden?'

"Oh, Mia, I'm sorry -- that was terribly gloomy of me!” She smiled. “Yes, I do have a house lined up, though it isn't finished: there's some trouble with the filters on the rainwater tanks and the clay plaster on the walls can't be finished until the masonry stove is run through its test firing, so we won't be moving in there for at least another three weeks. Bryan and Jayne have a MIL apartment as an extension on their house, and they've asked us to stay with them: it's just up the hill from the clinic, and after the initial team meeting Scott will be working from home.

"And there is a garden: the enclosures for the houses and the lot have been designed as hedgerows -- though they're still very small. Because the property was originally a car lot, the rest has been designed for raised beds until a soil amelioration team can come out and have a proper look, and see if we can clean it up with cover crops or if topsoil would have to be replaced. I mean to start some things in the sunspace as soon as we're settled; I had to leave my garden behind, but now I have a new space to play with, and a lot more vegetables will grow here without having to be nursed along!"

"Speaking of vegetables --" here she grinned at me. "How's the cooking going?"

"Not too bad," I felt a little embarrassed. "I cooked a paella yesterday - we used our rations on prawns - a bit naught but it tasted so damn good... There's been some good lessons on cooking in school lately."

"And school's going ok?" She took another sip of juice. "Do you feel like you know what you want to study?"

"I don't know..." I shrugged. ''what do you think I should study?''

"You know I'm likely to plug the biological sciences!" she laughed. "I don't think you have to throw over any established ambitions and take up agriculture just yet: there's always going to be a need for doctors and engineers and plumbers --"

"And midwives?"

"And midwives, unless the people screaming for zero population growth are determined to till with their Zimmer frames! I don't think there's going to be as much use for degrees in media studies or MBAs, but the world hasn't shrunk as much as a lot of people would like to think. There's still room for a great many sorts of jobs; what's happening now is that they're being revalued in light of energy becoming expensive again.

"Whatever you choose to study, history should be on the list -- remember what I said about 'duplication of effort', and pointing out to you and inky_jewel that there were already programmes in place to help all of you learn how to garden? We don't have time to keep reinventing the wheel: being able to make connections and get information to people who need it is going to be a matter of life and death for some time to come; that sort of synthesis needs to be encouraged, and history is very good at teaching you to connect disparate events."

‘‘How do you think this'll all end up? Are you feeling good about this new life?''

"You know, it's funny, but I am. I'm moving to a house that's half the size of the one I left, we’re earning between the two of us about what Scott used to make on his own -- but we both have work we love, our son is married and happy and they both have work they love, all of us can eat and stay warm and even have some time to goof around, and most of our friends aren't on the other side of the ocean from us any more.

"We really didn't fit our neighbourhood, before; now when things go wrong we won't be forced to deal with them on our own. I know that the attitudes towards privacy here have meant that someone could go 20 years without speaking more than a handful of words to their next-door neighbours, but people are going to have to rely on the ones around them to get them through, again -- and while sometimes that's intrusive and claustrophobic and just damned annoying, it's not an entirely evil situation."

Her phone buzzed after a little while longer. She got it out of her dark green satchel at her feet and looked at the screen.

"I've got to go," she said, "Scott's finished with his friend and we really need to get back on the train!"

"Ok," I said, finishing the last of my drink. "Well it was really nice to meet you!"

"Me too," she said. She gave me a warm hug. "You take care of yourself Mia."

We left the cafe and she went one way down the street, me the other. We stopped and waved at each other a couple of times, then she disappeared out of sight.

And that was that; a fleeting meeting with someone I had only known as a page on the internet, an email buddy, there for a lunchtime with me. Another person starting a new life in the vastly different world without oil.

[author note: week 29. Many thanks to lucy1965 for collaborating on today's post.

The moleskine is mine - if you look carefully you can read a paragraph from my novel, Iridescence and Light! I bought it from this site. It used to be that Moleskines were hugely popular - writers like Hemingway did all their work in them. The company went bust in the eighties but recently an Italian firm started making them again using the traditional acid-free paper and quality leather and traditional methods. It's the kind of small scale operation that produces lovely items worthy of my purchase.]

I received a pleasant email earlier in the week from lucy1965, one of the other netizens! She's been trying to get over to the UK for months now and with all the problems with immigration, it's only now she's coming, to be an EMT midwife in South Buckinghamshire. Lucy's been one of the people in this crisis that's been most supportive (I've also had wonderful correspondence with Sam the prudent RVer and megiddo_tell, jimboboz, lead_tag, gracemominnh, gerben1974 and a few other great people).

She emailed to say that she was flying into Cardiff and would be stopping off in Bristol on her way to her new home! She asked if I wanted to meet for some lunch and of course I said yes, so we're going to be meeting next week!

Another person is making a change this week too. Similar to what rdy2rte is saying here, Uncle Andy's getting excited about the farm he bought off dad. He's setting off today, taking a bus into the heart of Wales with a couple of bags to start a new life.

I asked Andy why he was taking so little things - his phone and the solar charger Greg gave him, his laptop and another solar charger (although greg made him pay for this one - it's about £2000 pounds worth of panels), some clothes, a toothbrush, straight razor and about ten books.

"What else do I need?" he said. "The farm'll have food and enough power to to eat and keep the lights working. Apart from an internet connection and some heating for when it really gets cold, that's all I want."

I envy him. He looks happier than he's been since he came back. The stuff that happened in Saudi really screwed around with him but it looks like now he's going to go off, set up a homestead and make things alright again. In his head more than anything else.

"I could come with you," I said, when he was at the bus station. He shook his head. He pressed his hand into my coat pocket.

"Stay and study," he said. "Learn something that'll work in this new world. Come visit me in the holidays, and in the summer. Until then, I wanna see you learning something useful, ok?"

"Ok Uncle Andy," I said, and we all stood back as he threw his bag into the luggage compartment under the bus and jumped onboard.The bus was packed, as they all are these days. Used to be you could get the 'megabus' for a pound if you booked early enough. Now it's more like 20-30. Andy waved as the bus struggled up the hill and quickly out of sight. I wondered when I'd see him next. We started the wander home, feeling the one person less than before.


It's December and it's cold. The old georgian (and earlier) tall terraced houses are pretty here in Bristol, but they aren't warm.

School's much better though. The stress that had been growing amongst us with all the tests and mounds of homework has gone away - we've still got exams but thanks to the changes the local council has made, there's a lot more time to just explore - a lot of kids haven't got as much internet access so there's a couple of hours a week structured browsing - heavily monitored for naughty stuff! I've spent a fair amount of time just learning about the crisis and the things we can do to stay afloat - making clothes, cooking, growing! I've got lots of plans for the allotment next year. Things are looking up.


[Author's note: week 28.

As Mia's journal went on, Uncle Andy has become just as important a protagonist in my eyes, mainly because as an adult he's far more linked into the effects and changes of the world. Being on a terrorist-attacked tanker in the middle east doesn't hurt either, mind.

A couple of journals picking up on the political theme lately. Participating in wwo is no good unless we actually let our representatives know what problems may face us and that we as citizens want them to address them. Grassroots activism on this issue is important. My prize of a mix cd to anyone that contacts their representative and asks them about Peak Oil still stands - megiddo_tell comes closest so far - he sent an email to his Senator, Carl Levin! No idea if you want the cd but let me know the response!

French blogger and expert on energy and economics 'Jerome A Paris' has a great diary today on the way economics and the idea that 'greed is good' has shaped our world today, far too much. Daily Kos is a good port of call if you want to start getting involved with politics at a grassroots level. I'd suggest a corresponding right-wing site to go with this left-leaning one but as much of the world's problems have come from the right wing arm of US politics I don't think it would be appropriate.

His call to contact our representatives is a good one that I echo. Although wwo has been a great experience and told some amazing stories, there hasn't been enough coverage of the governmental handling of the crisis to really get a good picture on what's happening in the US on a broad scale. I tried to implement UK policies in Mia's story I thought would happen and effect her but I'd be even more fascinated to see what real politicians respond. I'm planning to email my MP Stephen Williams once my exams finish on thursday.]

I arrived home from college to find a familiar looking land rover parked at my gate. Dad's springer spaniel Jasper sat on the back seat, wagging his tail at me. The rest of the land rover was full of baggage and possessions. I didn't feel especially good about the situation but gave Jasper a quick wave and went into the house.

It could have been mistaken for a war zone by the things being shouted across in the kitchen. I could hear mum's voice raised and dad's familiar boom. I stood at the door, ear pressed to the wood, listening. Greg cut across the argument as I started to pick up on words.

"Look," he said, "You can't just come waltzing in here after all the time you've been away."

"And who do you think you are?" Dad said. "You're not her father."

"Are you?" Greg said. "You've hardly seen her in ten years. You don't support her. You rarely even call."

"She's my daughter," Dad said. "And she deserves to be given a new chance away from all this?"

"For Christ's sake Paul," Mum told him. "Do you really think it's any different in New Zealand? Even if you get into the country, it's just going to be the same problems. Nowhere is getting through this. The world's changed, Paul."

"You and your defeatist bullshit," Dad said. And as Greg protested, he cut across. "This is all the fault of our government. It's not as if oil prices went up that much. They're just using the opportunity to raise taxes and limit our freedoms, as usual.Me and Emma have had enough. Mia's coming with us."

I listened with horror at the door. They wanted me to go to New Zealand? I mean, no offense to those down under but I rather like it here! I started to open the door, ready to storm in and join the argument.

"I wouldn't love." I turned to see Uncle Andy standing at the foot of the stairs, looking down at me.

"but they want to send me away!"

"I don't think your dad's going to win this one, love. Come on." He walked past me and into the kitchen. I followed him in. My dad and his new wife Emma stood at one side of the table. Mum was sitting down, cradling a cup of tea. Greg stood near the stove, a glowering look of anger on his face. It was the most expressive I'd ever seen him.

"Mia!" Dad came over to me, arms wide, an unnaturally large grin on his face. His hair was cropped short and it made him look very different, much older and more careworn than his old shoulder length hair. His clothes were less hippyish too.

"Hello dad," I said, giving him a reluctant hug. He stood up and smiled.

"we've got some exciting news," he said.

"No," mum cut across, glaring at him, "we don't."

"Come now," dad said, "don't be like that."

"Paul!" Uncle Andy, who'd been pretty much ignored since he entered, thrust himself across the room, shaking dad's bewildered hand. "How are you doing? So did you sell the house and the farm then?"

Dad looked uncomfortable, and squirmed. Emma, a younger wife with one of those faces that looks like it's smelled something bad, looked even more affronted.

"No," Dad admitted. "Not yet."

"Couldn't find a buyer, huh?" Andy said, still shaking Dad's hand. "I suppose you're planning to sell it whilst you're out in New Zealand?"

"Of course," Emma said. Even her voice was haughty. "We know some very reputable Estate Agents that assure us house prices will have stablised in a few months."

Greg all but snorted into his drink. Andy's smile grew wider, in direct response to my dad's face growing ever more nervous.

"And New Zealand's just going to let you in?" Mum said.

"We have a lot of friends out there," Emma replied, making it very clear that we were not considered friends in quite the same way. "My father has already moved out there and he's making arrangements."

Arrangements sounded like it involved a lot of money. When Emma was involved it usually did. Mum always said Dad ran off with her because he loved the idea of a young fling that paid for him to go on holiday with her.

"So the phonelines are working out there," Andy said, "What with the crisis and all? I mean, you do have a plan for keeping track of the seller?"

"We've got a plan," Dad said, but he didn't look sure. "We've got a place to rent in New Zealand, for me and Emma and Mia."

"But I don't want to go!" I said, feeling like the luggage in the middle of some vast tug of war game. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"I'm your father," dad said. "Your mother hasn't exactly been taking good care of you, has she? She's had to start sleeping with the guy next door just to find somewhere for you all to live."

"Paul!" My mum said. Greg put down his mug and drew himself up to his full height, looking ready to punch dad right that minute.

"So you're saying," Andy said, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension in the room, "That you're going to take Mia because you don't think we can look after her properly, that we don't have the money?"

"Exactly," dad said. "I mean look at you - you get laid off and come running back here to sleep on her boyfriend's floor? She deserves better."

"I agree," Andy said. Dad looked oddly at him, starting to notice that the biting sarcasm wasn't getting through.

"So," Andy continued, reaching into his pocket, "What if I buy your farm off you?"

The room's atmosphere changed from tension to surprise. Everyone's eyes focused on Andy's hand as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. It was much thicker than it should be. Thicker because it had a large roll of 50 pound notes in it.

"Uncle Andy..." I stared at the money. It was more than I'd ever seen in one place. "Where did you get that money?"

"That's what I'd like to know," mum said, exchanging a glance with Greg.

"The Oil company paid us off," Andy said, unrolling the bills. "Insurance. You get a lot if you're injured in a terrorist attack. More if you tell them you know about how lax their security was and that the papers would be fascinated."

We stared as he placed the roll of money into Dad's hands.

"£3,000." he said.

"I'm not selling you the farm for £3,000!" Dad and Emma shouted near simultaneously.

"That's to start." Andy said. "I'll pay you 30,000 more than the asking price. Cash. But you have to leave Mia here with us. That's the deal."

The look between Dad and Emma told the whole story. Andy reached over and squeezed my shoulder. He winked.

"It's all going to be alright love." He whispered.

I have no idea if that's true. But it certainly feels a lot more alright than it could have been.

[Author's note: week 27

This is an event I've been planning for a while, to begin wrapping up the story arc. It's a few days later than planned due to revision but here it is.]

Yesterday, we reached a population milestone. More people now live in Urban areas than in Rural, according to research by North Carolina State University.

The government announced big plans today. The river Severn is being dammed! the Severn is about 10-20 miles from Bristol and apparently has the second biggest tides in the world. There's been plans for a barrage for years, Andy was telling me, they've just been constantly overruled by the environmental concerns. I guess the crisis has changed that.

You know the incredible thing? This one barrage, ten miles long, could power as much as one TENTH (although more likely around 6%) of all of Britain's power supplies, as much as three nuclear power stations. There's also plans to build smaller lagoons around Wales... The government have been touting how this is such a major step - where before they would say 'it's environmentally friendly' now the buzzword is 'self-generation'. It's been a big part of the white paper brought out, that we need to get rid of all these things we're importing from around the world.

It's still going to take as long as 20 years before the whole thing is done, though (even if it could last as long as 200 years). I hope we can wait that long...

-Mia

[author's note: week 25. Another short one - these exams are killing me. This was meant to go out yesterday but livejournal's being weird.

The 10% quote is true, by the way. There's that much power in the oceans. the Severn has a tidal change of 14m, more than anywhere except one place in South America. Actually what causes it is rotation of the earth.

With the rationing of energy in wwo it will probably end up being more than 10% too. As I researched this today I found out that my hometown of Swansea in Wales is producing a mini tidal lagoon over the next few years that could potentially power a large part of the city.

two very good op-eds in the British papers today. One by Tony Blair in the Times on energy futures and the other by Al Gore in the guardian about how misguided the policies of the Bush administration have been. I wish gore had been made president in 2000. There's little doubt the world would be a better place than under the current president. I hope he runs in 2008. ]

Very quiet here. Fuel prices stayed the same again, as people settled down into a rhythm of the new way of life: more expensive to get around, more expensive to buy things from further away, but otherwise life goes on.

School has subtly changed since I went back. College is advising people not to take a fourth A-level (you need at least three for most unis) - instead they're offering 'life' skills. It's part of a new initiative by the local council and the transition towns project - teach us practical skills now that it's harder to produce stuff industrially, I guess.

Feeling like primary school kids, we went blackberry picking with our chemistry class, and our teacher taught us how to make jam. What a far cry from burettes and sodium hydroxide! In a few weeks he said we can take a pot home. It felt good to be using something that was just lying around waiting to be utilised. We've also got some DIY lessons on keeping things working, keeping water clean and even a little cooking! It's nice to have an hour or two doing less book-related stuff, that's for sure.

Uncle Andy's much better since he broke down last week. He's a little bit more like his old self, buzzing around the house doing odd jobs, converting parts that don't work, even making a Cantenna for wifi! The oil company gave him a little money to be getting on with and he said that he wants to use it to make his life (and ours) self-sufficient.

I bugged him to give me links to the things he was building: Solar Still and Cantenna instructions!

Things seem to be calmer around the world too, which makes me happy. It was hard listening to so many Netizens talk about violence and suffering - I hope the worst is over. It's like they say about poverty - it takes three months to get used to it. Well, we're it's been 5 months now. Maybe we can settle into a rhythm and survive as we are. I hope so.

But I'll still be looking over my shoulder for trouble after all that's happened.

-Mia


[author note: week 21. Just a small one today as I'm revising particle physics for my tuesday exam.

thanks to will without oil for taking up my congress-reporting challenge. From the wwotexts, here's another great example of netizens coming up with realistic pictures of how life (and politics) still goes on.

Again, via Daily Kos, here's a diary from today that details what americans today can do to help the way agriculture works in your country. People not having enough food has been seen frequently in the story of wwo and this farm bill essentially decides what American farmers grow - at the moment the tax and subsidy section of the farm bill is heavily weighted towards corn and other staples for ethanol and cheap foodstuffs. However, if enough people get involved at a grassroots level and encourage politicians to change the bill, these subsidies could be much changed to favour smaller, organic and local food producers instead of the huge national companies and giant mechanised farms producing factory-chickens and the like. Not only will this mean better quality food, it will also make it far more profitable to be a small farmer - reducing the dependence on massive corporations that ship food for thousand of miles to be sold - and producing more small farm jobs in the process. Not liking some of the horror stories about food in wwo? This daily kos diary details what is perhaps the most important way to change things before a real crisis comes along.

This video series about a group of youngsters studying in Iraq is a great example of what life after a crisis would be like - sure, things will be bad, but life goes on. You can do all you can to try and escape the worst of it, but in the end you have to settle with it and move on, even with the problems all around you.]

The return trip from Heathrow Airport with Uncle Andy was quiet and subdued but without incident. Greg put enough fuel in the boot to not need to stop and fill up, which avoided any service station unpleasantness - apparently a lot of them are getting really dodgy for crimes. We listened on the news in horror as they reported a huge uptick in murders near Cheltenham - I guess some of the things English Village were talking about. The prison rumour is picking up a lot of steam - government officials are going out of their way to deny it but rumours persist.

Uncle Andy was silent throughout, hardly responding. He looked incredibly tired and even went to sleep in the car with his coat for a pillow.

We got home safely and quickly - with so little traffic it's easy to make time.

Andy wouldn't talk to greg and mum - but as soon as we got home they almost pointedly ignored him anyway. Greg was totally at odds with Andy's 'liberal nature' and mum just didn't know what to say. They both went off to work. This continued, for about a week, with my Uncle all but silent, just eating, sleeping and reading spy novels stolen from dad's old collection.

Andy sat in the kitchen, making his way through the cake I'd baked the day before, when I came in from school. I got a piece of bread and was amazed when he started to talk. For five days he'd been like a mute.

"Still in school then?" His voice was husky and strained, nothing like it used to be.

"I just started my A-levels." I turned to him. "Uncle Andy, what happened to you out there? What's wrong? Was it the accident?"

He didn't reply for a second and then looked at me.

"No," he said, softly. He ran a finger along the cut above his eye. "I got this a couple of bruises and burns but the explosion was at the other side of the tanker, it's not too major."

"Then why?" I asked. "Why are you so quiet? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He looked at me, eyes that used to be filled with light and fun now totally serious.

"Maybe I have," he said. "Maybe I've seen the ghost of what the world used to be like."

He started to tell me about the things he'd seen in the weeks since the tanker accident, first in Yemen and then in Saudi Arabia.

"Yemen wasn't too bad," he said. "I was in the hospital and although people were upset and poor, they had always been upset and poor. This wasn't much different.

"Saudi got steadily worse." The words were all coming out in a rush now, all the things he'd seen and not been able to tell. "I saw riots everyday, looting, militia. Every few days another refinery would be hit. Anyone they caught was summarily executed, beheaded in the central square.

I didn't know what to say, just stood with the plate in one hand, listening to him.

"The news coming through from the region was worse." Now that he'd started, he didn't stop. "It was worse than what Iraq had been like before - the major powers like Iran had their hands in everything - most of the south of Iraq is part of Iran now, and the Kurds have their own war with the Turkish. Syria's keeping quiet, but everyone knows they're waiting for the chance to take the western part of Iraq."

"What about the oil, and the American troops?" I asked.

"Most of them are holed up in Baghdad," he said. "It's all they can do to keep the green zone. Keeping hold of the oil is like trying to keep water in a bucket with holes in it."

"But you were in Saudi Arabia!" I said, unable to understand the utter desolate look on his face. "I thought they were rich, and secure!"

"Mia," he said,changing his tone so as to catch my attention fully. "They were the ones that caused this crisis."

That bombshell hung in the air like the aftermath of a clap of thunder. I put the plate down.

"What?"

"The oil reserves ran out," he said with a shrug. "They've been overstating their reserve for years. There were always rumours in the company but it was never confirmed. One day, one of the fields started to dry up and they began using reserve instead, hoping to find a new source. They didn't."

"And the oil shock?" I asked. Andy spread his arms.

"They ran out of reserves," he said. "About half their production ground to a halt. The company decided not to let us go back in case we let the story out. By two weeks ago the chaos had gotten so severe it didn't matter anymore. Militia's clashed across the refineries, trying to control the export of what was left. No one had heard about the Royal family in weeks. Me and seven other guys from the company decided to get out. We paid one of the militias to take us to the Red Sea, and hitched a ride up the Suez canal into the mediterranean. There must have been three times as many people on the ferry as there should have been. Most of them were turned back as soon as we got to Greece. We had British and American passports so they let us fly back here."

He looked at me with hollow eyes.

"I had to shoot people, Mia." His eyes were moist with tears. "The militia tried to double cross us near the city border. They killed Frank and Bobby. I had to shoot them to get us away."

"My god," I said. I thought it was bad in Heathrow.

"I'm sorry," Andy said, standing up. "I shouldn't have told you all that. I just had to tell someone."

He got up and left the room, tears running down his worn face. I stared after him, utterly speechless. I'd never seen a man who'd been to hell and back before.

[author's note: week 20]

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.]

It's becoming horrible obvious to me that America is not in a good state. Here in Britain things are grim but we're holding it together. The new taxes, ration system and immigration laws are harsh, there's been protests but there's nowhere near the level of chaos and violence I've been seeing reported all across America (muggings here in Columbus, armies gathering bases in Maine, the conspiracy-filled bombing in LA, riots in Seattle.)

Some people like rdy2rte and drewkitty are reporting more positive things (drew, I'm amazed at your bravery) but generally I feel totally overwhelmed by the level of chaos we're seeing on the BBC news - and that's from the areas they've got reports from. It's like will without oil is saying: Whilst Brown's new government here quickly made some hard decisions to keep us afloat, the US government still seems to be suffering from the same problems it was before any of this began; corruption, indecision and lobbyist-induced bending of the facts...

It reminds me of this DailyKos post before the crisis, talking about the horrible problems with American democracy in the 00s. The quote that stood out was:

'Seven years ago a Turkish friend of mine said that America would have a civil war within 20 years. I was shocked that she would say this. I tried to convince her that the checks and balances built into our system would prevent that from happening.I could not have been more wrong. Now, it scares me to think how close we came or are to that. Even though it feels like the tide is changing, we're not out of the woods yet.We are in Constitutional Crisis now; the Constitutional Confrontation is yet to come.'

it seems the writer's Turkish friend may have been right - talks of civil war aren't as crazy now, nearly 5 months on from the first oil price increases. With people talking about the alberta oil field conflict and even talks of a potential new COUNTRY called Cascadia, things are getting really weird. It's all muddled what we receive over here but in class a lot of people were talking.

"Have you heard about Cascadia?" one of my new classmates in biology said, "I hear they're trying to break away from the US or something?"

"Don't be silly," another one replied " the government's just going to do what they did in LA and drop another bomb on anyone that gets out of line..."

The conspiracy theories are endless. I was just happy to be back at college (I chose to do Biology, chemistry and *shudder* maths - me and greg sat down and worked out which would be the best for any kind of career. Of course, now I'm back in school looking to learn after all this news and all anyone can talk about is the crisis...

things here are much likeEnglish village has been talking about - lots and lots of police, some dodgy people lurking. Some people are very unhappy - One of the tescos near us has been bought out by its local managers and is now a 'Bristol groceries' Shop. Other big companies like Mcdonalds and HMV are floundering - McDonalds closed weeks ago with various notices about lack of ingredients, whereas most of the music shops are slowly disappearing with the new music downloading system. A lot of people are saying that Movies and Tv might head the same way but it hasn't happened in a big way yet, not like with mp3s. David's beaming all the time because he can download games for much cheaper than they used to be - although I'll bet it's mostly old or simple games they're releasing, I can't see many massive budgets around at the moment.

Greg is also a happy man. Since we moved in with him his alternative power gadget company has been raking in cash - some people are profiting from the crisis. He's actually got a big raise - practically unheard of in this day and age! The company's trying to setup more local co-opted manufacturers as mass producing in china doesn't look so hot anymore. Greg's been assigned a task to find a few handymen in the South West that can build some of these gadgets to distribute locally. He celebrated by spending a fortune on a side of beef - using up most of our restricted item rations in the process. It tasted gorgeous after so many days without meat.

[author note - week 18. That DailyKos post is actually from today. It's worth looking at. There are some very troubling matters in US politics at the moment that might not even need an oil crisis to start a major breakdown.]

So I headed to this wonderful slow food market today. I've been before but not been able to afford anything other than to stare longingly at a lot of it. Today, however, was different. Because it's all local food, to help encourage British producers, the ration system is different - there's still restrictions but everything's moved down one notch - meaning locally produced meat is less restricted than the crappy stuff in the supermarket, even though it's so much more yummy!

There was only one ration card machine at the market - the way it worked was that everyone had to put their card in before they entered the market. The person at the entrance would swipe the card and give you vouchers for how many ration credits you had left. You could then wander round the market and get what you wanted, handing any left over vouchers back when you left to be put back on your card. A security guard watched the whole thing - not an uncommon sight these days but only a slight dampener on what was a lovely market.



When we got to the featuring many great locally grown and predominately organic produce like this vegetable stall:



and this bread stall:



as well as some fantastic meat, fish and produce like cheese, chutney and even spices! Mum bought us organic pies for lunch with one of our treat rations - I had one with chicken and chorizo in a spicy tomato sauce and I don't think I understand the word 'pie' could be such an amazing thing until I tasted it! We also picked up lots of vegetables for the week, bread and a little meat - it's still expensive but when the rations only allow you to buy three meat items a week suddenly it's easier to spend a little more on each one. I guess those health mags that said we should cut down on our meat eating are getting their desire!

You know another thing that's great about this new ration system? The market stalls were all cleared up, out of produce by the end of the day when we went past again. when everyone's allowed a certain amount, maybe there'll be less food wasted 'in case' people want to buy it. Maybe empty shelves will become a good thing rather than a bad one - a sign that the right amoutn of food was available and eaten, rather than a failure of the Just In Time Mentality my teachers taught us in geography.



the market was popular and as news of the new ration-system in place grows I expect more people will be coming here - especially as due to it being local food the new food mile taxes don't apply.

Once we got home mum sat me down and said;

"Mia, you've got to think about what A levels you'll be taking."

I was a little stunned by this. I'd kind of assumed the schools weren't around because of the crisis, or that mum would want me helping around the house. She shook her head.

"You're going to study," she said firmly, "and you're going to do something useful. College starts on monday. You better have a look on their website and decide what you want to do."

So now I have 4 days to choose my subjects! Eek! Still, although I know it's work I'm secretly quite glad - I didn't want my life to be a housewife or without education. It feels good to know that even after the crisis, I may be able to learn enough to make a major difference, somehow.


Oh yeah! On my way home I saw this on the window of an unnamed holiday shop:



The text says:

'Say NO to holiday tax

Gordon Brown is increasing the price of your holiday. Come inside and sign our petition against Holiday Tax now.'

*sigh* Some people just don't know what's good for them, do they? There's been similar uproar from some quarters about the new rationing system. And you know the funny thing? It's always from the small minority profiting from the way it was before. The minority of rich companies and individuals who don't want equality. Well, they can all go to hell.

-Mia



[author's note - week 17. The food market in the picture is held every Wednesday in Bristol's Corn Street, attracting a lot of growers and producers from the surrounding area. In addition to the weekly one, there's a larger market in the same place on the first Sunday of the month - this is the official 'Slow Food' one - and another on Whiteladies Road the first Friday of the month. The poster in the holiday shop is also real, just going to show just how blind some people are about the greater good.

A quick aside to say that due to the author's third year Phyics exams occurring four time over the next two weeks, posts to this journal may unfortunately be more sporadic or shorter than they have been. I'm going to try and post every day still but there may be some interruptions. Just thought I better say something in case anyone got worried about Mia's silence! Also, many thanks for some of the lovely comments and links by other diarists. It's nice to know you're enjoying what I'm doing in this blog. Shoutouts to lucy_1965 whose comments inspired this post and Deliberately for running an excellent slow food blog and was kind enough to post a comment to this blog - hope you like this entry too!

Also, a little appeal unrelated to WWO. In 2003 and 2004 I was privileged enough to attend the fantastic Alpha workshop in Pittsburgh, PA. It runs every July providing superb teaching for young writers of science fiction, horror and fantasy. I would not be the writer I am today without their help and the scholarships I received to travel over to the USA to study. This year they are struggling to provide enough funds for similar scholarships for promising young writers (14-19 year olds, mostly from the USA but also in the past from the UK, Korea and New Zealand.).This is a very different topic to WWO, I know but if anyone is interested in helping you can do so at this link. Thanks.]

After weeks of what feels like limbo, we started to see some positive change in bristol this week. Some of PM Brown's headline policies from his confirmation speech startled to trickle in.

After a long time without post coming through the door - even the spam has stopped - it was a surprise to hear the door ring. I went downstairs to answer it, expecting it to be a schoolfriend or something. The postman and a policeman stood there, a large wheeled container on the steps between them and an envelope in the postman's hand. They looked a bit perplexed to see a 16 year old girl open the door to Greg's house.

"Ummm...." the postman said. "Is Mr Grossman in?"

"Yeah," I said, stepping back to call up the stairs. "Greg! There's some people here to see you."

The Policeman stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder.

"You don't live here, do you?" He said, looking down at the clipbord in hand. "We only show Mr Grossman here."

"We moved here from next door last week," I said with a shrug. "Me and my mum and my brother."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Well," he said with a smile, "I'm glad we caught you. This is a very important delivery. What's your names?"

"David, Mia and Alexandra Payton," I said promptly. The postman opened the container and sorted through a huge pile of hundreds of envelopes then pulled out one identical to the one for Greg.

"You better get them down here too."

As if on queue, Mum and Greg appeared behind me. They immediately shooed me back indoors, which made me a bit grumpy. These guys weren't exactly scary! Mum put her hands on her hips and eyed up the two men with her best haughty look.

"Yes?"

"Your new ration swipe cards," the postman said, handing Greg one envelope and mum three. The policeman stuck out one of those electronic touchpad things that UPS delivery men use and got my mum and Greg to sign for the packages. Then they started to leave.

"Wait!" Mum said. "How does this work? What do we do with them?"

The policeman rolled his eyes and continued pushing the cart to the next set of houses. The postman shrugged helplessly.

"sorry ma'am," he said, "we've got a thousand more houses to do today. All the info should be in your packs, or on the BBC."

Mum and Greg came back inside as the delivery skipped our old house and moved to the buildings beyond.

The packages were flung on the table and Greg went back to work. Mum was going to as well until I convinced her to open the envelopes.

Inside each envelope, along with a load