When setting up our studio, we always knew we wanted to be a company that does Good, rather than a company that drains money and happiness from the world.
We know we want to prioritise working with people from minority groups – be that race, gender, sexuality, disability, socioeconomic background – but we do have to admit that a lot of the time, it’s just us: two white able-bodied people who are middle-class enough to have an animation studio. There’s only so many times we can say, “but when we DO hire other people…!” without it giving off the stinky smell of performative wokeness.
We’re also aiming to have every tenth (or so) job we do be done for free, for a good cause. This is a great idea and we plan to stick to it! But the nature of our work means that we’re never sure when we’ll have time, when we can afford it, and what such a job will even be. We’re still a new enough studio that we haven’t got to the stage where we’re ready to take such a job on, but in a few months’ time we’ll be actively looking for one. But still: so far, all words, no action.
In February 2020, we got a bit sick of not having lived up to the pledge we made to ourselves. So, our enthusiasm inflated by the gusty breath of Storm Jorge, we pulled on our wellies and headed to a local reservoir to get our tiny team to do some Good.
Lindsey and Jonny holding up their spiritual siblings
We met up with the team from Friends of the Welsh Harp, who gave us a startling safety talk. “There will definitely be needles, don’t touch them!!” said they, and we nodded understandingly. “Also, there will be rat piss, which might kill you!” they continued. Sufficiently warned, we were kitted out with safety gloves and litter pickers and these amazing little loops that hold the bin bag open, and off we went.
At first glance, our assigned spot didn’t have the big treats that we were sort of hoping for: the bottles, footballs, crisp packets – stuff you can pick up and fill bag with in 15 minutes and see a visible difference. But there were a LOT of smaller bits: bottle caps in their dozens, bits of polystyrene packaging, and almost surprisingly given their infamy, a fair few plastic straws.
Before and after cleaning up one tiny patch
Our vague disappointment at dealing with the littler litter was premature. About an hour in to our first session, we spotted a monster: a plastic barrel that had been dumped straight into the water, and was now half-embedded into the reservoir bed.
This ugly green barrel became Jonny’s white whale. He was obsessed, and spent at least 30 minutes battling with it, eventually even calling over other volunteers to help him drag this thing out of the water. But it was so filled with mud (and possibly deadly rat piss) that it was slow going.
Ultimately (and with a healthy dose of feminist rage powering Lindsey’s tiny biceps after one of the other volunteers nearly implied she wouldn’t be able to help), our venture was successful. Jonny had slain the beast.
“From above his Uniqlo jacket Jonny dropped a tear into the reservoir; nor did all the water in North London contain such wealth as that one wee drop.” – Moby-Dick; or, The Whale, Herman Melville, 1851
Overall, we spent two weekends working with Friends of the Welsh Harp before nesting season began and we couldn’t rummage around the reservoir edges without disturbing the birds. It was a really rewarding thing to have done, and we’ll absolutely be back again for the next session.
And, so far, neither of us have died from rat piss poison, so we’ll call that a win.
