In these grey, wet, cold, foggy, soggy days you do not have to fly to Bali or Mauritius to find warm happy sunshine and friendly people. You need a car (or, in extremis, a bus or a bike or a cable car) and off you go – up up and away into the local hills.

Here at Foggy Bottom where I live down beside the Rhone River, there are days when the sun never shines. So you go up the Salève, the Jura, or even up the top of the next hill, and you are in a different world—a world of clear vision and light and smiles.

And, once there, you go for a little walk to pick up some energy to take back to the lowlands. On these walks you meet people like yourself who are out taking the air and enjoying the view—for once above the sea of fog, you instantly forget that there are human beings down there breathing the insalubrious vapours and busy being grouchy. You are on a disconnected higher plane of existence.

Firmly ensconced in this world, you mention to casual fellow-walkers that at your place it’s a horrible grey pea-soup fog. They either agree (they live there too) or express surprise, claiming they’d never have thought it (these are the ones who live a little higher). You cheerily hail people working in their gardens in a spring-like manner. They either say nothing (as they consider that you are a lunatic who has been let out of the asylum for the day) or they fall in with your happy fantasy.

Wanderer above the Sea of Fog 1818 by Caspar David Friedrich

A perfect conversation goes something like this:
–Bonjour! We’re just standing here admiring your view.–
–That costs two Euros.–
–But it was only 1.50 E last year!—

Guffaws all around and you’re off. You ask the obvious question to elicit easy answers. I suggest starting with –Are we in France or in Switzerland?– As your new casual friend will then feel a vague sort of pity for your innocence and immediately realize the non-threatening nature of your existence.

The state of the walking path can also be minutely discussed, as can the proximity of hunters and their dogs—who these days have a sort of radio wrapped around their necks. Noisy, smelly teenage dirt-bike hooligans are a common enemy. You give people directions to Santa’s Village and to the next cross on various bits of the St James Way to Santiago de Compostela (follow the shells) in the region.

So the horrid fog’s silver lining is to lead us up into the land of the glorious walks and, as my old neighbour up in the mountains used to say, to “causer bien”—to practice the fine art of conversation with perfect strangers.

I have made a huge mistake. Having been an English teacher with a close relationship to modal verbs for decades, I was curious about the mix-up concerning the climate change document that was produced at the Paris Conference a week ago. So I read the 31-page Paris Climate Change Agreement December 12, 2015. http://unfccc.int/resource/docs/2015/cop21/eng/l09.pdf

As my sister has wisely observed in this fraught pre-Christmas period, one is either sucking on lollypops humming Christmas tunes or one is spitting with rage. Stultified to the point of falling off my chair, I wanted to see if I could find the bit that is causing the linguistic controvery—the bit that takes the teeth out of the developed world’s legal commitment to saving the world. The bit where “shall” got changed to “should”.

No normally-constituted person should read this document. It is a repetitive masterwork of cajoling happy-energy. It emphasizes, notes, invites, requests, urges, strives, recommends, recognizes, takes note, calls upon, aims to, and encourages. It is a maze of time-lines and dates.

Despite this, I easily spotted the passage that shifts responsibility away from the developed countries. It is really there on page 22, Article 4, Section 4:

Developed country Parties should continue taking the lead by undertaking economy-wide absolute emission reduction targets. Developing country Parties should continue enhancing their mitigation efforts, and are encouraged to move over time towards economy-wide emission reduction or limitation targets in the light of different national circumstances.

Of course, the first “should” should have been a “shall”.

Now, everybody loves the word “should”. It’s an agreeable concept, filled with awareness of the problematic, but simultaneously considering potential improvement. “Shall” is a crisper word which expresses firm intent, decision, imminent action. We all know that we really should do something about our filthy, polluted, deluded world. We really should do something about the polar bears and the Adélie penguins hanging onto their tiny little ice floes and starving to death. Poor loves! And that Golden Toad that hasn’t been spotted since 1989, well, something really should have been done before it became extinct.

So, after two weeks of intense diplomacy, the final document was a day-and-half overdue. On Sunday, the American delegation saw the “shall” (signifying their responsibility and accountability) in Article 4 and threatened not to sign. The French government, needing a landmark climate accord, wiggled out of the impasse by claiming the drafting team had made a typographical error and everyone quickly agreed to sign the “should” (signifying a potential pleasant possibility) document.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. So, I shall see you all there sooner rather than later. I’ll be the one over in the coolish corner feeding the polar bears and humming Christmas songs. Hopefully, I should have stopped spitting by then.

I’m being bombarded with seemingly innocuous, but highly guilt-inducing little presents—name stickers, agendas, calendars, post-it pads, cards and envelopes, recipe booklets, wrapping paper, pencils, notebooks, and even the occasional ornament. I haven’t yet received the package of chicken noodle soup which was such a delicious surprise last year.

These presents are accompanied by an informative letter, some relevant visual aid and at least one payment form. They each wish me a wonderful Advent season and a very Merry Christmas.
Yes. It is charity / NGO fund-raising season yet again.

Now, I have nothing against sick children, sadly displaced people, polar bears, unemployed people, blind people, mentally ill people, leprosy camps, people living in the mountains, people living in religious villages in the Philippines, people who paint with their feet or hungry St. Bernard dogs. In fact, I would like to help all of them.

And I quite like the idea of giving my Canadian brother-in-law a little piglet that will be presented to someone in Haiti which will, in turn, allow schooling for the children; or 20 chickens (for only 40 francs) that will peck around somewhere in Bangladesh and create eggs and cash for an entire family.

He seems to enjoy receiving these no-frills, no-nonsense, non-presents. I gave him a ½ metre of Swiss steam-train track for his last birthday. I think he’s really enjoying it.

I also fondly remember the goat that my Swiss son-in-law presented us with a few years back. He had signed the card with his name—which I had unfortunately thought was the name of the goat for many many months.
Adopting a de-mining rat is also another really good idea, but so far no one has send me the relevant information. Fortunately, I have my own private sources.

Each of the above makes much more sense than the usual slippers, socks, and soap selections. But then, Christmas was never about sense, it was about miracles; and now, even worse, it’s all about stuff. And once you have your basic stuff – which boils down to a couple of smart little machines – all the rest is entirely arbitrary.

So, buy a solar lamp, a sewing machine, a duck, a latrine, a fishing net, or a blanket and proudly present the gift certificate to your person-of-choice. They will love it – but be sure not to forget the bonbons, the bottle, or the book that goes along with it.