Man, it’s hard, getting ready to meet Greta Thunberg. She’s like an Instant Ethics Audit Mirror on legs – ten minutes before I meet her, I have to google to see if my (second-hand) top was created in a sweatshop, chuck my half-finished can of hangover-curing Diet Coke in a bin, and fret if it’s obvious that my Doc Marten boots are the leather ones rather than the far more acceptable vegan options. Meeting Greta Thunberg with World-Destroying Accessories is like when your kids smell fags on you: you can’t bear that they will think less of you. You want to be a better person than, sadly, you really are.
I do my first interview with Thunberg – currently, in the absence of Iron Man, the only viable candidate fielded by humanity to Save The Entire World – at Glastonbury Festival in June, because we both happen to be there. She to give a landmark speech to 250,000 people about instigating organised public intervention on global warming. Me to get a bit pissed up on cider and see Sugababes.
