In a country where water is a scarce commodity, where we’ve had stringent water restrictions in the past, I’m always flabbergasted when I see petrol station attendants swabbing down vast areas of forecourt with a hosepipe. Presumably, these minions are working under an instruction from the boss, as they pursue individual leaves and scraps of paper into the gutters, using hundreds of litres of water in the process. Similarly, when the television flashes constant reminders about the rising demand on electricity, especially during the winter months, I’m appalled when I drive past old-age complexes and guesthouses with dozens of lights burning on their perimeter walls. There’s no way I’m going to inflict untold misery on myself by switching off my geyser or my electric blanket so that these places can look like Las Vegas every night of the week. But herein lies the problem. If I’m going to pursue my own selfish needs, why shouldn’t everyone else do the same? To the extent that we’re unwilling to compromise or make small concessions, we’re losing our sense of communal responsibility. Am I my brother’s keeper? I suspect the majority would answer: No. In my own case, I’m absolutely not my brother’s keeper, but then I have a good reason: I don’t have a brother – or a sister, for that matter. But that still doesn’t absolve me from having responsibility towards the well-being of the community. So, the other day when I was driving to work, I was most interested to see someone using one of those leaf-blowing devices. Then I remembered, not so long ago, you could buy a super-sized vacuum cleaner to suck up the grass after it had been cut. But then, that meant you also had to find the time and the means to dump the refuse somewhere. Too much bother. So now, we have this leaf-blowing device; it’s the archetypal symbol of utter selfishness. Instead of tidying up your grass and leaves, you simply blow the whole mess onto your neighbours’ property. Now, my garden rubbish isn’t my problem; it’s become your problem. Bingo, sucker!