Three Men, Three Single Malts, and One Planet

My Professor says retirement affects people differently.

Some take up gardening. Some learn the piano. Some discover birdwatching.

And a few discover that they have finally become qualified to redesign civilization.

We encountered three such gentlemen one rainy evening at the Wellington Club.

Our usual corner was occupied. Only one table had two vacant chairs. The other three were occupied by gentlemen of approximately the same vintage, each nursing an expensive single malt on the rocks and an even more expensive opinion.

Before I could suggest another table, one waved us over.

“Please join us.”

My Professor smiled.

“It appears,” he whispered, “that destiny has reserved these seats.”

Within ten minutes we knew exactly who they were. Curiously, we never learnt their names, only their professions.

The first had attended almost every COP, or Conference of the Parties, for three decades. The second was a retired international economist who had advised governments, central banks and institutions whose abbreviations contained more capital letters than ordinary words. The third had spent forty years in global public health.

All three had retired, or were about to.

The COP gentleman was impossible to miss. His shirt appeared to have been stitched from old delegate lanyards and accreditation badges.

COP15. COP18. COP21. COP26. COP28.

I found myself staring.

“Sustainable fashion,” he explained proudly. “I call it Conference Circularity.”

My Professor examined the shirt with genuine admiration.

“Remarkable.”

“You like it?”

“Every badge tells a story.”

“And together?”

“My climate journey.”

The Professor nodded.

“I’ve practically grown up with global climate negotiations,” the gentleman said.

I resisted asking whether he remembered the negotiations better than the conference dinners.

He barely waited for the drinks to arrive.

“The environmental situation,” he announced, “is considerably worse than governments admit.”

The economist nodded gravely. The doctor nodded even more gravely.

The Professor lit his cigar. I pushed the ashtray towards him.

“The latest science is deeply alarming.”

“Published?” asked the Professor.

“Not entirely.”

“But it is circulating.”

Among whom remained unclear.

“Air pollution now kills precisely 11.73 million people every year.”

The doctor frowned. “I’ve seen different estimates.”

“Those are official.”

“And yours?”

“I include people who have not yet been properly counted.”

The doctor seemed satisfied.

“Water pollution is even worse. Depending on the methodology, somewhere between twelve and twenty-eight million.”

“That is quite a range,” observed the Professor.

The environmentalist leaned forward.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this.”

“The Earth’s magnetic field is weakening much faster than publicly acknowledged. The Pacific Ocean is becoming less magnetic.”

“I wasn’t aware oceans were magnetic.”

“They’re becoming less so.”

“What caused it?”

“Unofficial nuclear-waste repositories on the classified part of the Pacific floor.”

“And this affects the Earth’s magnetic field?”

The Professor nodded gravely.

The doctor cleared his throat.

“Microplastics are now so widespread that future medical textbooks may have to classify humans as composite materials.”

At that moment I realised something.

Each gentleman possessed exactly the same scientific method: state something astonishing, quote an impressively precise number, mention unnamed experts and, if questioned, lower your voice.

I glanced at the Professor. He was enjoying the conversation far more than he should have.

The waiter had refreshed the ice when the economist turned to me.

“And what do you do?”

“I run an environmental consulting firm.”

His eyes brightened.

“What kind of consulting?”

“We advise governments, industries, banks and development agencies on environmental strategy, climate risk, biodiversity, circular economy, sustainability reporting, environmental and social due diligence…”

He raised his hand.

“Enough.”

The environmental gentleman sighed.

“This is exactly what is wrong.”

“What?”

“Vanilla consulting.”

I had never heard environmental consulting described as vanilla.

The doctor joined in. “You are treating symptoms.”

“And ignoring the macroeconomics,” said the economist.

The environmentalist looked distressed.

“You have the capability to solve planetary problems, yet you spend your time helping one company at a time.”

The Professor quietly puffed his cigar.

“What would you recommend?”

The environmentalist answered first.

“We must redesign the global ocean circulation system”

“Pointless,” said the economist. “There’s no financing model. What the world needs is a Global Atmosphere Stabilisation Fund issuing Planet Bonds.”

“Who would repay them?”

“The future.”

The doctor shook his head.

“The real challenge is preventive planetary medicine. We must vaccinate ecosystems before they collapse.”

The environmentalist looked impressed.

“I hadn’t considered ecosystem immunisation.”

He returned to his favourite subject.

“The carbon market is obsolete because it rewards only companies.”

“What should it reward?”

“Photosynthesis. Carbon credits must be democratised. Every household plant should receive annual credits, especially money plants and Tulsi.”

The economist turned back to me.

“You should completely redesign your consulting firm.”

“What should we do first?”

“Convene a Global High-Level Task Force,” said the environmentalist.

“Supported by an International Financing Mechanism,” added the economist.

“And a multidisciplinary Scientific Advisory Board,” said the doctor.

They gathered speed.

“A Planetary Recovery Blueprint.”

“A thirty-year fiscal transition.”

“A universal planetary health protocol.”

“Regional consultations.”

“Independent evaluation.”

“Annual global health audits.”

The Professor finally interrupted.

“Gentlemen, who is going to repair the sewage treatment plant near this club?”

Silence.

Finally, the environmentalist replied, “That is rather local.”

“So is the polluted river receiving its discharge,” said the Professor. “It is curious. The larger the problems become, the smaller the practical solutions appear.”

The economist changed the subject.

“I’ll be attending a symposium in Zurich next month.”

“I’ll see you at COP,” said the environmentalist.

The doctor raised his glass. “And I’ll be speaking on planetary wellbeing.”

The Professor smiled.

“I sincerely hope someone attends the sewage treatment plant.”

They left together.

Finally, I asked, “Were they wrong?”

“Not particularly.”

“They all seemed knowledgeable.”

“They are.”

“Then what bothered you?”

“They have mistaken altitude for depth. They discuss the atmosphere, but seldom the drain.”

I smiled.

“Every profession develops its own telescope,” he continued. “The environmentalist eventually sees only the planet. The economist sees only incentives. The doctor sees only disease.”

“And what does the consultant see?”

“The invoice?” I suggested.

The Professor laughed.

“Sometimes. But ideally, connections. Real work usually lies between disciplines, not above them.”

I thought about the hundreds of assignments we had completed over the years: environmental impact assessments, wastewater management, contaminated sites, circular economy, climate risk, biodiversity and ESG.

None had generated headlines. Yet each had quietly solved a problem that someone, somewhere, had been living with.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The club gardener was watering a flower bed.

“I wonder whether he knows he is implementing a landscape hydration resilience strategy,” said the Professor.

“He probably thinks he is watering plants.”

“And is that enough?”

“It usually is.”

As we walked towards the car, I asked one final question.

“Why do impossible solutions attract so much attention?”

“Because they have one remarkable advantage. They can never be evaluated. Nobody can prove whether you almost reversed the Gulf Stream. But everyone can inspect a sewage treatment plant.”

“Practical work is inconvenient,” he continued. “It produces evidence.”

The Professor unlocked the car.

“The person who promises to save the planet receives applause. The person who repairs one drain, improves one treatment plant, restores one contaminated site or prevents one bad decision usually gets invited to solve another problem”

“I rather like that arrangement. Applause, after all, has never repaired a drain.”

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This blog is not mocking concern for climate change, public health or economics. Nor is it arguing that local action alone can solve global crises. Its sharper target is performative expertise (my new term) i.e. people who speak convincingly about saving civilization but remain detached from the ordinary, accountable work.

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