I can’t walk past a four-by-four or a dirty great lorry without letting its tyres down. One in the back of the net for the environment. And it was me who did the graffiti at the airport, power plant and petrol station. I phoned a bomb threat to Stansted airport as well. ‘Stop polluting the skies or the bomb goes off.’ That worked a treat. The place went into meltdown for twenty-four hours. When I was little, I always said I was going to be famous. Well, I was right. I’m headline news now. It’s a bit much for the telly to call me a terrorist, though. I’m one of the good guys, trying to save the planet. That makes me the opposite of a terrorist. The local newspaper gets it right. They call me the Cooler. Get it? Someone who fights warming is a cooler. Not bad. And definitely not a terrorist. I let rip about carbon dioxide and climate change at school, but no one knew I was the Cooler. I didn’t let on until I couldn’t keep it to myself any more.
