Pulling wool over the eyes

Drug companies, bottled water companies, food company giants, domestic chemical purveyors . . .

We're in bullshit territory, and have been for so long that most people don't even notice it, but, in part, thanks to the free information out there on the net (not all of it reliable obviously) and in part thanks to a certain general angst that all is not good on our shared sphere perhaps people are beginning to question that what manufacturers and marketing agencies etc state may not in fact be true - at all.

Our bathroom sink has been semi-blocked for several months; we've tried the plungy thing, the coiled metal drain unblocker, taking the mysterious tubage under the sink apart and cleaning it many times hot water, vinegar and bicarb, shouting at it, and I even bought a bottle of blasto-drain or similar title but as it has to not contain anything very caustic because of our lovely reed bed, I was very doubtful that it would work - which it didn't.

None of it worked so I finally called the plumbers who turned up yesterday with a massive black plastic tube and suction handle - thing, and proceeded to grunt away for a good half an hour until finally the stuff deep within our 1980s bathroom system finally gave up and moved on towards said reed bed - lucky it!

After congratulating him on his skill and determination I asked about 'blasto-drain' and he said - beh, NON - faut pas! or, "do not ever use this shit or similar shit as it does nothing at all except cost loads of dosh and is very bad for the nature!" I could have hugged him except he would have been very frightened - it was so amazing to hear a young (very) person in the building trade stating such truths.

I worked - for my sins - in advertising for years (on the side of producing the visual elements for campaigns), so have clear memories of sitting in mind-crushingly boring meetings concerning the best way to dupe the public and the best way to sell as much as possible of whatever the products happened to be - anything from kitchen carpet (weird!) to dog food, paint, biscuites, shoes, office furniture, curtains and sanitary towels. I think it was at this meeting that I finally knew I had to escape . . .  'so, what colour should the fluid be? and which colour ribbon to dress the item with . . . flowers? ideas, Kate? 

In my head, I had whapped the boney, nicotine-drenched art director about the head with a fully saturated (blue fluid) sanitary pad and had ran from the room laughing manically into Oxford Street and all its over-stocked shops of unnecessary goods. In reality, I marked that as a point that I would up the writing and illustration and leave the easier money world of styling.

Back to the wool. It's continually being pulled, over-hyped, or even made to be a one and only option in the case of pharmaceuticals for example. Drugs certainly have their place and wonders such as antibiotics are life savers when used correctly, but maybe we should all be doing our own serious research into other ways of coping with aches and pains of body and mind. I've just listened to an excellent talk featuring psychiatrist Mark Horowitz who himself suffered for years while trying to get off antidepressants and other drugs which were added as his side effects required other treatments. It took him eight years and he now spends his time writing and lecturing to help similar sufferers find their lives again.

About ten years ago I went to see a nerve specialist in our old town as I was having very unpleasant and scary attacks in the face  - see very old posts a long time ago... After slapping me a bit he suggested that the 'beast was asleep' but as it would likely awaken again I had to take drugs every day . . . for the rest of my life. I explained that it was indeed intermittent and I certainly didn't want to take strong drugs (and they are very strong) forever, when there might be other possibilities. If I had mentioned meditation or restricting screen time - both of which I use to help the condition now - he probably would have eyed me quizzically then called for security to remove a clearly deranged person from his office. 

When I got back from the pharmacy with afore-mentioned box of drugs which he had insisted again I take, I read the first item on the side effect list: may cause suicidal thoughts. Great. I can admit that one or two had already sidled into my terrified mind, and I certainly didn't want easy access to any more . . .

Food companies. Writer flexes hands and approachers keyboard. Nope - enough for now. That's a massive rant for another time. Suffice to say the food industry pulls more wool over more eyes than anything else does. Check out Ultra Processed People, by Chris Van Tulleken. think I did a whole blog post about his book a while ago. A real eye-opener...

Every little helps . . .

My version of the meeting where those three words were dreamt up for a certain food emporium.

"Morning everyone. So . . . here at Snickett, Rabid and Forelock, we've been given the go-ahead to create the new Turdco logo and, most importantly - a grabbing little phrase that can be used on store bags, shop frontage, ads, etc. Exciting, eh? So . . . Kevin, what're your thoughts?"

"Er, wot?"

"Kevin, get your arse in gear or you'll be on the office furniture catalogue before I can say, leatherette swivel chair."

"Sorry, Guv."

"They want three words . . . Amanda?"

"Why does everyone want three bloody words - like . . . Get Brexit Done . . . or. I'm lovin' it."

"Or, Just do it . . . or, Eat out to Help Out . . .

"Shut up, Kevin - that's five words."

"Oh - yeah. So . . . three words about saving money, or some bullshit."

"That's the idea."

" . . . Spend More, Tossers."

"Kevin! I'm warning you . . ."

"Okay - serious now. Save Money Here."

"Bit boring. Amanda?"

" . . . Broke? Shop Here."

"Nope."

"We Really Care."

"Bit too ingratiating."

"Free Food, Tuesdays."

What? they really doing that?

"Course they're not, Kevin! Look we've got ten minutes before the main honcho arrives for pastries and smarminess. Serious now! - come on! you're usually a bit good at this crap."

"Okay, okay . . . We love You - Grudgingly Accept You, Pay Our Shareholders, Come and Shop, I'ts warm Here, Got Much Soup, Free Use Toilets . . . fuck, it's not working."

"Think of your bonus. . . ." 

"Okay. Right! All Savings Help."

"Err, yeah - not bad. Bit more catchy. Bit more personal. Bit more - we relate to the little person on the street with their everyday scrimping."

"We Relate, Folks."

"Absolutely not! Something with help in it."

"Help at Hand."

"Too Salvation Army."

 ". . . We Help You."

"Boring. Amanda? Come on, come on!"

"Every Bit Helps?"

"Not bad . . . push the envelope."

" . . . What does that actually mean?"

 ". . . I've no idea. Come on!"

"Every Particle Helps. Every . . . Penny, Dime, Thing . . . Saving . . . Little."

"What? that last thing - say it again."

"Little."

"YES! Every little Helps! Bloody brilliant. Done - quick, Kevin, wipe that penis off the whiteboard - tell Doris to get the buns in."

 ". . . Hello, everyone. Please come in . . . Good holiday, Malcolm? Great! . . . Yes, it's gone exceptionally well. We're very pleased with what we've come up with - took quite a time, I must say. A lot more customer surveys than anticipated. Ah, Doris. Coffee all round - your finest of course!

What this post was actually about was 'every little helps' in relation to saving our rapidly degrading planet. My tip for today - tiny, minuscule tip, but might help if everyone were to adopt it and stop buying washing -up sponges. We are guilty of purchasing them for years (gulp) but their lifespan is short and greasy, and no doubt make up a considerable area of landfill each year, or even month/week.

Thanks to my super brother visiting recently and his giving of certain practical, house gifts, we have now adopted the loofah for washing up - pleasantly scratchy and fibrous. Very durable, doesn't get greasy and can go in the washing machine/dishwasher/. Teamed with a scrap of old t-shirt for wiping down as the loofa does leave more water than the trad sponge, it's a perfect kitchen solution. And cheaper. And makes you feel better. What's not to like - oops four words.  

P.S... this morning, I went to get the old sponge I'd kept for cleaning the dark recesses of the oven and discovered a tiny plant growing on it - proof of the stuff that must live in these little rectangles.

 

Don't worry, folks! I will replant the seedling in the garden.

    https://www.loofco.co.uk/products/washing-up-pad. 

NOZ

A new friend of mine - we had recently moved to the Loire area - said one Tuesday morning, hey do you fancy an orgasmic ten minutes. I think I said something like, okay, as long as it's not dangerous or doesn't cost too much. We'd driven to Saumur - the local big town where said friend had to visit a cash and carry, the mysterious ten minute thing to be undertaken first. She parked and pointed to a blue and white fronted building embellished with the word (?) NOZ. Come on you'll love it! It's total chaos.

Our local NOZ which is nicely run down and very chaotic inside - I suspect other NOZ emporiums are less so

I'm not sure if I'd term the experience exactly orgasmic, more mind-bogglingly weird and certainly satisfying to those who love finding a bargain. NOZ, or at least our local one, is a random, ramshackle shop full of stuff that is dangerously near, or just over sell buy dates; stuff that never should have made it beyond the fevered imagination of a marketing bod, and over-surplus goods in general. As appose to places like 'everything's a pound' shops or Action - a more organised and rather clinical version of NOZ - the joy is in the chaos. Failed packets of terrible desserts jostle next to bottles of tomato juice, shampoo, job lots of too-spicy-for-the French-market chili paste, wine, out of season Christmas biscuits, towels, dog snacks, vegan products that never should have pushed in this meat-hefty country; toys, bizarre Spanish cakes, giant plastic tubs of mayonnaise . . . and so on and so on.

You never know what will be in there. Sometimes we have found amazingly useful things like excellent quality tinned tomatoes, darjeeling loose tea, watercolour sketch books, and once, a very nice white wine which retailed at about ten times the NOZ price when checked online, and with a greyhound on the label -what more could we wish for!

And what about the name? Or more to the point, the bizarre emblem of a man either screaming or laughing hysterically which looks like it was most certainly a drunken lunch napkin drawing. I love it. 

- Alors, que-ce que on va faire - so, what we gonna do about this image, eh? 

 . . . What about this? 

Uh? an electrocuted posh bastard? Or is it a terrified hedgehog - with a bow tie?

Oh, I don't know but this biro's run out and the meeting's in seven minutes, s'fine . . . Waiter - two cognacs and the bill.

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.