Dear Extinction Rebellion

You know, when I was little, a milkman would come round in the morning to deliver milk from a steel cannister into whatever utensil we needed it in, usually a steel pan, which would go straight onto the hob for boiling before being put away into the fridge. My mum would skim off the cream for me to enjoy later.

We used to buy a crate of 24 glass Coca Cola bottles from the shop, and return them when empty, in exchange for refills.

We'd buy cheese and yoghurt in little clay pots, and a guy would deliver fresh grapes, also in sealed earthen pots.

Coffee or tea to go was never a thing. We'd get it in little glasses, made of well, glass.

Grocery shopping was almost always packed in brown paper bags, and sometimes in jute tote bags and wicker baskets which we'd use till they fell apart. We'd buy meat, chicken and fish from the local butcher or fish market, having it cut just the way we wanted it. No one trusted pre-cut and pre-packaged meat.

We'd darn socks, sew buttons on, and wear clothes till they were completely knackered and faded within an inch of their lives.

And we'd cycle pretty much everywhere. And walk to school.

I'm not talking of some idyllic bygone era - this was a mere 25-30 years ago. Pretty much everyone over the age of 40 remembers this.

So before you glue yourselves to pavements and offices and spray buildings with beetroot juice (which WE will have to clean up), block the streets with your LSDesque hippie protests through interpretive dance and prevent poor folk from going to to work so they can feed their families, you might want to remember, it isn't us that clogged the drains, pissed into the rivers and shat in the oceans.

It's you lot. It's all your fault. Just go home. Go home and look on your sins.