Putting the 'happy' back into content
Before I start ranting, I should point out I applaud the sentiments of an annual charity fundraiser and know that the motives are truly honorable, but this one story sums up why I find the entire thing wrong, wrong, wrong.
What on earth would possess someone to do something like that? Baffled…
I know that plastic bags aren’t the biggest environmental problem, but it still beggars belief that people leave supermarkets laden down with them.
My local Tesco is one of those small ones where people only tend to go in for a couple of items. I regularly stop in for some milk, bottle of wine or similar small purchase.
Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but modern milk cartons have a built-in handle. It makes it easy to pick up. It also means that you don’t really need to put it in a bag.
So why do the till operators try to give me a plastic bag for it every time I buy one. It’s got its own handle! I don’t need a bag!
The guy in front of me last night, bought two chocolate bars and they were put in a plastic bag. Why?
M&S has made a huge step by charging for plastic bags. I sincerely hope that the likes of Tesco and Sainsbury’s start doing the same soon.
I woke up this morning in a cold sweat, but I had to share this, if only to get it off my chest.
I actually dreamed about going to something that resembled The Word magazine’s Christmas party.
Although a subscriber, I’m not connected to these people at all, so it’s quite strange to find myself coming up with something like this!
Now bear with me, because dreams aren’t exactly structured. It was at some sort of stately home outside London and the special guest was either Van Morrison or Bruce Springsteen – I know there’s no resemblance between the two, but they weren’t the main focus of the dream.
As they came on stage they were flanked by none other than Mark Ellen playing the saxophone and David Hepworth with a bass slung around his neck. Sadly, my dream wasn’t auditory so I can’t vouch for their musical prowess.
After the gig, everyone started filtering home and I was collared by Mr Ellen who was desperate for booze. He ordered me to go to the nearest supermarket and pick up some lager for him and Guy Garvey, who was also there – and make sure it was a 6-pack.
I was also told not to get any elderflower cider because Garvey hates it after having it last time he was a Word party.
After finding alcohol, we headed for the station to catch a train back to London.
We literally just missed the train by seconds, only to see David Hepworth gleefully waving from the window.
We then managed to miss every train for the next two hours with Mr Ellen getting progressively drunker and laughing louder and louder and me getting more and more stressed out at not being able to get home. At that point, I finally woke up!
Scary or very close to the truth? I’m not sure…
Any resemblance to the behaviour of people featured in the real world is totally unintended and a complete coincidence