Following on from last post of total incredulity re the state of our world

Come   on. Really? 

                                                    

Who on earth thought these loo paper names up? . . . I sat in many tedious and surreal advertising/marketing meetings in my youth when I was a London stylist (cabbie/finder of ludicrous stuff at ultra short notice) but I don't think anyone would ever really of thought suggesting that 'Instant Zen' would be a great name for something to wipe your backside on.

Having suddenly realised that our rental lodgings was out of loo paper I had to scoot to the nearest shop to grab a packet. I hunted for something made of recycled paper, preferably encased in other recycled paper rather than plastic but there was nothing in the whole aisle (longer than an average truck) that was actually made of real, recycled paper - a nod to a small percentage; a packet claiming that its wrapping was made (mostly) of recycled plastic but nothing about the actual paper itself - lilac/mint/aqua/rose coloured; quilted, kitten-soft (ugh) better than porcupine-soft, I suppose, and scented . . . like these two varieties pictured here. What does Instant Zen smell like? Better than Delayed Zen? I've never actually thought what Zen would smell like. Sort of pale, scentless, calm, a few leaves gathered from the garden might be more appropriate.

Perfume of summer sun. Traffic jams, overflowing bins, wasps, sweat, withered flowers trying to cope with the heat . . . Spring might have been a better choice.

I will make sure I get to the organic shop next time where you can buy fair priced, loose, off-white loo rolls with no packaging - and no quilting, kittens, designs, colours or smells.

Perfect packaging

Yesterday, after visiting our favourite second hand emporium in a search for a chest of drawers and suitable containers for nesting chickens - found the perfect huge oval roasting tin, slightly macabre but I don't suppose they'll notice - we ended up in the fearful planet of Hyper-Leclerc for one item.

A few months back Mark invested in a new razor - one of the few things it's tricky to purchase as a pre-loved item. After dazedly looking at the shelves of testosterone-fulled, heavily marketed, black, aqua and red packaged razors he noticed a quiet and discreet model named Bulldog. No shouting about performance, new twenty blades, the best a man can get, etc; just a straight forward . . . razor with spare blades and a bamboo wood handle.

So, the one item in the supermarket we needed was new blades as our more local planet of stuff doesn't do that one no-fuss brand, yet. Below, the photo of the packaging. Card and ink, that's about it. Imagine if all products could be so simple, and how shopping time could be reduced. No staring blankly at fifty different options encased in layers of shiny, rigid plastic; but then people wouldn't have choice, something we've sadly grown totally accustomed to, at least in countries rich enough to have ad agencies, stuff development teams, supermarkets and willing customers. 

This little recycled card box gives me hope. 

Perhaps one day, the hand cream product I used to buy as it was in a tin rather than a thick plastic pot might reappear, and people might forget there was once a choice of kitten soft, three layer quilted, spring scented, matching bathroom-coloured loo paper and be content that a paper-wrapped, slightly off-white version exists in their small local shop.