I've always had an uncanny knack of producing methane but can I generate enough to heat my home?

Let the Eco-Challenge begin.

As I give up everything tasty in search of a greener diet I thought it was worth posting the videos for my previous challenges:

What? No Car?

Massive Waster

My colleague bit in to the burger. Crunchy ciabatta gave way to succulent minced beef topped with salad. Meat juice glistened on his lips and the smell of a flame grill teased my nostrils. I realised I was watching him intently, my watering mouth craving a similar treat. I looked down at my own lunch to find a quartered beetroot surrounded by what looked suspiciously like soggy hazelnuts. I was only two days in to my Vegan Challenge, it was going to be a long four weeks.

My meat-free month was the suggestion of a man called Tom who is so enthusiastic about vegan living that he runs a group for other fruit and nut heads, the Dulwich Vegan Society. It isn't just meat that you have to erase from your fridge though, it is everything you hold close to your culinary heart. For example no dairy means that butter is gone and it turns out that butter is in everything that is delightfully unhealthy and delicious. I am a very un-creative cook and my first concern was to find a replacement for my lunchtime chicken bagel and spag-bol dinner.  When I quizzed Tom about what he ate day-to-day his answer sounded worryingly like the food you order to accompany a steak because you 'think you should'.  "A lot of fresh fruit and veg" isn't a meal, it's a side. However brushing aside concern that I might genuinely become a bit malnourished I was intrigued to see how this would change the way I ate. Would my eyes be opened to a new variety of sustenance and break away from my normal routine or would I end up living on a months worth of beans on toast (without cheese!)?

Of course my main motivation are the green benefits.  From an eco point of view you can't deny the vegan logic. Animal protein is very 'carbon heavy' whether it's the sort you throw on the BBQ or eat on crackers. From their birth our four-legged farm friends are walking methane machines and even after they are turned into chops or cheese we consume energy keeping them fresh. A soft nosed cow on the front of the 'Go Vegan' literature was also a reminder that the conditions endured by some animals on their way to our plates are far from comfy. "Don't eat me," he seemed to say, "have a lentil and bean salad instead." I did as I was bade.

As I write I have made it to the end of my first vegan week and thanks to some careful panning and some superb cooking by my in-house-lady-friend I haven't starved. Constantly grazing on nuts and fruit keeps the hunger at bay and pulses of all shapes and sizes have replaced meat in my diet (I am yet to try the joys of tofu). The main area for adjustment seems to be inside my digestive tract as it learns to cope with this new high fibre diet but as long as my gaseous production stays below that of a growing cow I think the carbon scales for the week will tip in my favour. Hopefully my resolve will last  as long as the stack of chick-peas in my cupboard.

Doubt crept into my mind as the first bead of sweat departed from my hairline for it’s meandering journey down my brow. I couldn’t remember the last time I had looked defeat like this in the face and turned away a beaten man.  My girlfriend raised an inquisitive eyebrow, she already knew it was over. I was never going to finish the pizza that sat in front of me.

It was our fifth night in the land of excess and the ‘pie’ in question was the only size available in this Long Island backwater. This wasn’t Manhattan showing off for the tourist mob, this was the norm. The coffee-table sized piece of food actually had to be folded at the edges to get it in the box but even this didn’t signal to it's creators that it was too big. They proudly handed over enough food to feed a family and called it one man's portion and this man's side splitting effort (and a meal of leftovers) some of it inevitably ended it's journey in the 'trash'.

It isn't a secret that Americans like things triple-XL, the drive from the city to our beach-side get-away provided sufficient evidence of this. Lines of buffalo sized pick-up trucks stampeded along four lane highways. Some of these turbo-charged machines even sported four-wheeled rear axles, seemingly for no other reason than to require a larger driveway than their neighbours. Collecting our own transport at the start of the journey we'd been met with a look of concern from the hire-car staff worried about our choice of vehicle. "Are you sure you don't want something a bit larger? The economy choice is awful small and we have lovely SUVs." Admiring her up selling effort we declined and waited for our matchbox-sized car to be delivered, she had perhaps mis-read our British reserve. The 'economy' option in question took the form of a five-door estate with a 2.2l petrol engine. Larger in both size and power than any car I have ever owned it guzzled petrol with all the gusto of man worried he might never see fluids again. Worryingly, at 70mph I could actually see the fuel needle slowly retreating towards another visit to the gas station. 

Even down-town the love-affair with the automobile was in evidence. Manhattan's iconic yellow taxis seemed to make up almost 75% of the island traffic. The thorough underground network boasted roomy air-conditioned carriages and cheap tickets but we never saw it busy. Quieter still were the temptingly wide cycle lanes which sat almost unused next to congested lanes of traffic. Now, it is perhaps hypocritical to wave the naughty finger when the time I spent sat in a 737 on the way to Americas' East coast probably negates every bit of cycling I have ever done. However I had been hoping that forward-thinking New York would provide me with some eco-inspiration. 

Hope was offered by their attention to food wrapping which was predominantly paper and cardboard but street recycling was scarce and 99% of my waste joined the disposable coffee cups in the cavernous waste bins that stood on ever corner. Just when I was feeling concerned with the escalating levels of my holiday waste NYC redeemed itself in the form of a chilled bottle of water bought in Central Park. A brand new idea to me, it's label proudly boasted the completely organic nature of it's bottle, constructed not from oil-derived plastic but from plant materials. It was 100% compostable (or recyclable) and an idea that I had never seen before. Brilliant new technology as refreshing as it's chilled contents.

With a sideways glance confirming the coast is clear I delve my hand into the bin and swiftly retrieve the treasure. Slightly sticky and dripping coke onto my shoe is my most coveted prize, a discarded aluminium can. As I toss it into the recycling my warm feeling of pride is tempered only by the acute concern that a colleague might have witnessed my bin-based rummaging. I quickly make an exit.

This habit I have developed of man-handling peoples rubbish makes me feel comparable to the homeless man who strolls from bin to bin in my local park picking out cans to sell on-masse for a few pounds of lunch-money. Whilst the sight of him used to make me feel desperately sad in recent times I have developed a respect and admiration for this wandering recycler. He feels no shame as a modern day Womble, making good what people leave behind, and nor should he. I, on the other hand, am so embarrassed about my office-waste rearranging that I sneak about like someone with a dirty secret. 

The following is an email sent to the people in charge of packaging reduction at Tescos.

As a teenager trying to grapple with dangerously out-of-control hormones it seemed that my mum’s main role was to make my life as difficult as possible. We had very different views on my desire to transform myself into some sort of Dr Martin wearing, under-cut sporting twerp and blinded by the narcissism that only puberty can bring it was hard to notice how wise she was. 

 These days however the steady march of my hairline towards my crown is not the only reminder that I have inherited my parent genes. Every step I take towards living greener I am reminded of a lesson learnt from my mum. In the 80s she was broke and her thrifty living was born from necessity. Now it just makes good sense. 

 Following the success of last weeks top five I have compiled the ‘Top Five Eco Tricks I Learnt from my Mum’. Gawd bless her.

 1) Quality not Primarni - To my amazement back then the most expensive item of clothing in my wardrobe was my school shoes. 'Sturdy, black lace-ups' from Clarks may have been pricey but Ma Walters knew they would last a year. It's a good rule to follow because whilst buying ten items in Primark may satisy our shopping addiction the truth is the clothes will probably last for less time than it took to queue up at the tills.

 2) "Alu alu" - Still with pride of place in the kitchen where I grew up is a container full of used aluminium foil ready for another innings and my mum was always dissapointed if she didn't get at least three uses out of each bit. In fact why would we throw something out when it could be washed and re-used? We don't do it with our pants! The thicker, higher quality foil is the best to go for and when it finally splits just recycle. 

4) Hand me down (and down and down) - Like a hawk picking out it's lunch in a field of corn my mum could spot a jumble-sale bargain from 200ft and swoop in for the kill almost as quickly. Whilst a pair of Levis for 10p may be thing of the past there are still plenty of ways to dress in someone else's clothes. Ebay has it's share of bargains but if you'd rather try things on first then the scattering of charity shops round London offer great options. If it's furniture on your shopping list then the brilliant eastdulwichforum.co.uk and http://www.uk.freecycle.org/ can help you fill your house with other peoples' unwanted goods.

 5) Compost like crazy - Each summer holidays I would spend one hellish day digging a hole in the garden and filling it with a years worth of rotting carrot peelings. The cannibalistic veg that was grown on this mud patch were some of the biggest I've ever seen. 15 years on and all my carrot skins are going the same way. Composting your veg waste saves it rotting an-aerobically in a landfill and producing carbon-dioxide. Some councils (including Southwark in London) provide discounted compost bins (£10) or if you've not much outside space room then a wormery can sit near the bins and turn what you don't eat into food for plants. 

The landlord’s brow furrowed and he eyed me suspiciously. Suddenly I am seventeen again standing nervously at the bar hoping my date can’t see the beads of sweat beading my forehead. This time though I’m nearly thirty and all I’d asked him was which of his beers was the most eco-friendly. “I don’t know mate” came the reply. Evidently he had never really thought about it.

 Neither had I to be honest until someone set me the challenge of trying to drink green for a few weeks and so I set about it with the enthusiasm of a man combining leisure with work. It turned out that the major brewers hadn’t really thought about it either and whilst they were spending  their considerable advertising budgets making me feel cooler, more fashionable and a bit more Australian for drinking their produce none were really out to show me their green credentials. A little more digging though did unearth some interesting facts which for ease of consumption I’ve broken down into a top five list of ways to drink green:

 1) Cork it - Whilst notes of gooseberry go well on a summers evening the hint of carbon is heaviest with wines imported from far away sun-spots like New Zealand. You can keep the food miles down by drinking British vintages like Château Tooting (http://urbanwineco.com) or the very delicious Camel Valley Brut (www.waitrosewine.com)

 2) Cider visor - On average cider is the greenest variety of the devils juice. The brewing process requires less water and energy than beer and it’s generally made in the UK from locally grown apples.

3) Watered down beer - Brewing beer can be very thirsty work and some of the larger brands are starting to try and cut down on their water consumption. SABMiller who make Grolsch, Miller, Peroni have pledged to reduce water consumption by 25% by 2015.

 4) Go local - London is peppered with small micro-breweries that supply several of the pubs in the South East. Meantime Brewery in Greenwich makes London Pale Ale which has deliciously low food miles and a deliciously good taste. The Florence in Herne Hill also brews their own beer (Weasel, Beaver, Bonobo).

 5) Be neutral -Two companies that stood out as having strong sustainable production values were Sharps in Cornwall (Doombar) and Adnams in Suffolk. Adnams sell the UK’s first Carbon Neutral beer called East Green which is available in Tescos.

"A car hit me..." I tell people as my girlfriend rolls her eyes, she has heard my wounded soldier impression before. It's not even really even true. Technically I hit the car after it pulled out of a line of traffic in front of me. We've all done it, manoeuvre; signal; mirror; but unfortunately for this rushing commuter I was in the cycle lane.

Luckily I came away with nothing more than minor scratches and stars in my eyes, my helmet taking the brunt of my unexpected meeting with the road. Sadly my bike was not so lucky and so I am forced to wave goodbye to a now broken an old steed that has carried me for many miles. Looking at people's concerned expressions as I recant my tale of mid-commute collision I worry that I am doing cycling a injustice. People already seem to view cycling on London's roads as a quick way to a pair of crutches and perhaps I am doing little to change their mind. Personally though I think this is a misconception, if you break down my cycling history it actually makes encouraging reading. My only accident has come after three years of commuting East Dulwich to West London, let's say an average of 75 miles and 4.5 hours a week in the saddle. Multiply that up and it works out as one accident every 11,925 miles or 715.5 hours of constant cycling. Hopefully a more reassuring read.

The thing about planning is that I find it very tedious. Planning a holiday, hard work. Planning a stag-do, like herding cats. Planning what I’m going to eat each night, pointless. I prefer to operate on a very much night by night basis and if I’m honest rule #1 of planning food was leave it up to my girlfriend. Not that my household ethics are stuck in the 1900’s, just that she is a creative cook who hates doing the washing up. 

However, the problem with ‘plan-less’ living is that we’d inevitably end up making the 9.30pm dash to Co-Op and grabbing whatever packs contained an inviting yellow barcode. Whilst this lucky dip approach holds its own charm it is an inefficient way to operate especially considering my current challenge - reducing my non-recyclable household waste to zero. It’s hard to be environmentally selective when you are desperately hungry.

A solution was required and it came last Saturday morning in the form of a blue post-it note. I sat at the kitchen table with two of our simplest cook-books (one pitched at about my level entitled ‘Meals with Four Ingredients or Less’) and began to plan. Hell, if it had worked for General Eisenhower it could work for me (planning that is, not cook books). What resulted was a fridge-mounted day-by-day schedule of meals, and a shopping list that I could follow to the letter. Gone were the minutes spent dithering in the chilled food isle replaced by a well organised Saturday morning visit to East Dulwich’s independent food shops. Gone from my shopping bag was the supermarket cling-wrap, replaced by recyclable paper bags or better still no wrapping at all.

This experience also helped to remove my fear that locally bought goods would be a heavier hit to the pocket. A rugby ball sized slab of ham from William Rose butchers was priced the same on the Tesco website and it fed us from Sunday night roast dinner through to Friday’s lunchtime sandwiches. If only my new wormery worms were as keen to eat, they seem to be on some sort of hunger strike and show little interest in the layer of delicious vegetable waste sat on top of their muddy home. I will have to draw them up a meal plan of their own.