Tag Archives: plastic

Vaguely Medical Monday

16 Replies

Monday morning, and it’s a nice clean day. The weekend’s rain has washed the streets, the standing water has had time to disperse and there is very little traffic about, as the schools, and the associated parents and teachers, are on holiday. I’ve never understood how school holidays manage to empty the roads so completely, but there’s no point agonising about it – just enjoy it. I left home ten minutes late today but still got to work on time.

The lateness was due to my COVID test. I’d started sneezing over the weekend and had a runny nose, watery eyes, bad throat, fatigue and even a headache. I’m normally tired but it’s very unusual for me to have a headache. I just passed it off as a summer cold and left it at that yesterday. However, in the evening, after seeing there is a new variant, and these are the exact symptoms, I decided I’d better do a test. Then I forgot. This morning, I remembered. It was negative, so it was a summer cold. Magnified by thoughts of COVID, it was, for a short while, important. Now that the result was negative it’s just a summer cold aggravated by a touch of cyberchondria.

However, although I don’t have COVID, and can’t pass it on, which is good, I have killed the planet a little bit more. One swab, one plastic bottle, a plastic pouch of liquid, one plastic testing kit, a plastic ziploc bag for disposal and a bit of packaging, including a desiccant sachet. I don’t know the exact carbon footprint of all that, but it’s come all the way from China by the look of the packaging slip. It’s so easy to use plastic, particularly when, like this, you get sent a pack by the NHS. They sent it before one of my hospital appointments, so I took it as a hint they wanted me to test before I went. On the other hand, I might be wrong, as they didn’t actually send me any information with it.

Photo by ThisIsEngineering on Pexels.com

A Cup of Tea and the Decline of Modern Morals

23 Replies

Today I discovered another downside to old age , when I was outwitted by the wrappers on a couple of pasties. In an ideal world I would, of course, be making my own pasties, but as I have no intention of spending an hour doing something that five minutes should accomplish, I bought two pasties last week (they were on offer) and stuck them in the fridge. Tonight I got them out and just spent ten minutes wrestling with them.

It seems that I no longer have the dexterity to open a packet and extract a pasty. The packet kept resealing itself and the pasty seemed to swell so that it wedged itself in the opening. Instead of throwing them in with the roasted veg to finish the preparation of I ended up in the middle of something that felt like I was  Tarzan wresting a crocodile. What should have been a simple case of lazy cookery became a voyage into self-discovery and a realisation of my own mortality.

The day started badly when someone drove into Lidl’s car park at high speed, trailing loud music, and parked across two disabled spaces. He didn’t seem disabled. He was clearly of low moral character, but that isn’t the same as a disability. He went on to crowd me at the bakery counter (which just made me move slower) and to throw fruit and veg around as he searched to the back of the shelves to find the fresher produce.

If he’d been in his twenties, or in an expensive car you’d have said he was one of those tycoon types who was always in a hurry to get ahead in life. As he was in his late 30s and driving a shabby Vauxhall, I feel he was probably just a jerk. He would, I’m sure, know all his rights if you engaged his poor lonely brain cells in conversation, but have no concept of obligations.

In an ideal world a vengeful God would have pointed a finger from the clouds and this man would have been left as a bubbling grease spot on the floor near the fresh fruit counter. He would have been a slip hazard, but no more than that. This, I feel, is where the Old Testament could teach us a thing or two.

I then went home, clutching various baked goods and helped  a neighbour with a sticking door latch. This developed into a clandestine cup of tea (as we should not be meeting indoors). I think some socially distanced help with the door was in order, but drinking the tea was a sign of my moral decline. I obviously caught this from the bloke in Lidl.

From there to struggling with the pasty packaging just shows how steep the slippery slope is…

I was looking for photos when I found this picture. You don’t often find a butterfly on a crocus because butterflies are rare in crocus season. I thought I’d use it to remind myself that hope is just around the corner.

Now, where was I?

13 Replies

As far as the blog is concerned I’m eating cake in Derbyshire. In real life I am back in Nottingham, where I passed three increasingly unpleasant days at work and finally had a day of rest.

Today, Sunday, I had a lie in, read, shopped, snacked, snoozed and cooked.

As I speak, I am on the verge of serving ratatouille with Lincolnshire sausages, and also have a pan of vegetarian cottage pie filling simmering away. Tomorrow we will have the pie, with a topping of mash, and on Wednesday we will have the remains of the ratatouille, probably with a baked potato.

We used to serve Italian style sausages with the ratatouille (Italian style meaning British sausages with Italian flavoured fillings) but they cost more and didn’t taste as good as a Lincolnshire sausage.

They are also better for use in sandwiches, and tomorrow we will have sausage sandwiches for lunch.

And that, for the benefit of future researchers, is the way middle-aged  men and their wives spent their winter Sundays in the early 21st Centuries. By the early 22nd Century you will probably need a license to own a sausage, or at least pay a punitive tax, and the use of plastic wrappings will be superseded by the use of potato-starch substitutes which can be composted or used as a topping on pies.

TESCO Top Valley - an hour later

TESCO Top Valley – an hour later

While I was looking for a potato starch/plastic links I found this one. It’s one of my favourite subjects, but I wouldn’t advise reading it if you are eating. In the 22nd Century people will probably wonder why we ever thought cremation was a good idea.

Back to work.

On Thursday I was referred to as “disabled” by my co-worker. It’s funny what goes through people’s minds. We were discussing whether coin dealers would have made it to heaven in Egyptian times as we spend a lot of times destroying dreams when people ring up with a “valuable” coin. I checked this up – I think we’re OK. If you read this, it’s about doing good deeds, not necessarily about valuing coins.

We moved on to Christianity and he asked me if I thought I would still be disabled in Heaven or if all would be corrected. This was news to me, as I didn’t realise I was disabled. Anyway, as I pointed out, we don’t go to Heaven after we die, we have to wait for the general resurrection and, theologically, only need a skull and two femurs (the Skull and Crossbones) to gain eternal life, so I’m not sure a dodgy knee comes into play at any time.

I then asked him if he saw me as “disabled”. He changed the subject.

We then move on to a couple of days of him continually arguing with the shop owner about minor details of what we do. It’s like being in the middle of a divorcing couple. Fortunately I was given a set of ear plugs last week (the reason is too long and involved to explain) so on Saturday afternoon I put them in. It helped cut out some of the noise.

Wheels 3
Wheels 2
Wheels 1

 

Sometimes, when there is no other subject, I take pictures of wheels.

There’s nowt so strange as folk…

11 Replies

I once bought a collection of 107 owls. They were no bigger than two inches tall, with some being under an inch, and none were by recognised potters. Most of them had been sourced from gift shops or charity shops and as a collection they were a pleasant, if slightly eccentric, thing to look at.

Owls are nice. If it had been a collection of vultures I might have felt slightly different about it.

I tell you this to set the scene relating to another collection we bought recently. It consisted of about ten pound of mint condition decimal copper with a few five and ten pence coins.

Most of them were carefully laid out in plastic bags before being rolled up and taped into ribbons of coins, but a substantial number were individually wrapped. Some were wrapped like sweets but the majority were taped into individual flat packets. Cutting the pieces of plastic from a larger bag must have been laborious, but the effort of wrapping them was Herculean.

A strangely presented collection
A strangely presented collection
A strangely presented collection

And no, we don’t know why he had done it like that. I just assume that he was old and had time on his hands. In those circumstances some of us blog, others wrap coins tightly in bits of surplus plastic and cellophane. Goodness knows what I will be doing in a few years time.

People think that they are protecting the coin but in fact, the chemicals that make up plastic contain a lot off sulphur, which discolours coins. Over the years they have developed plastics that do less damage to coins. AS you can see from the colours of some of these coins, these weren’t wrapped in low sulphur plastic.

Anyway, my job was to remove all the wrappings.

I’ve had more exciting jobs, but I still paid whether I’m excited or not.

 

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Decimal 1/2 p coins – not worth much in 1971 and worth less now

Still no Charger

12 Replies

Just another short post and a recycled picture because I can’t upload pictures without a card reader or USB port. I used to do it for eBay using something called File Transfer Protocol. I can remember the name and the fact it took ages, but I can’t for the life of me remember how it worked.

The charger should be here tomorrow. I can’t tell you why, because Julia says I’m being ungrateful.

It has taken three adults to produce this state of affairs.

If I’d done it you would currently be reading a longer, better illustrated post. Least said, soonest mended, as they say.

I eavesdropped on an interesting conversation this morning. Someone who packs a lot of coins for banks was complaining that they are still having to use plastic bags despite everyone trying to cut down on plastic use. They were very indignant about it.

What made me laugh was that only five minutes earlier they had been comparing holidays, and the necessary long haul flights, they had taken recently. This included South America and a tour of the islands of the Indian Ocean.

To be fair, crying would also be a valid response.

Today’s recycled photos are cacti.

I’m hoping to be back on my laptop tomorrow.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Succulents

 

My Plastic Footprint

16 Replies

I’m feeling uncomfortable in more ways than the obvious one at the moment. Apart from the feeling of discomfort in the bladder area I have a feeling of guilt about Julia running round fetching and carrying for me. On top of that I’ve just been calculating the amount of plastic waste I’m going to produce before my return to hospital.

It’s going to be six weeks before I return. That’s 42 days.

For those of you not familiar with the equipment involved, it starts with a Foley catheter. Don’t read the link unless you have a real thirst for knowledge, it’s just a catheter that stays in place because they blow up a small balloon on the end to keep it in place.

Definitely don’t read it if you currently have one inserted as I’ve just scared myself to death by reading all the possible problems.

They can also, it seems, be used to stop nosebleeds. The mind boggles.

The catheter is plugged into a leg bag.

It is secured to my leg by Velcro straps, which is a skill in itself. Secure it too far down and you can get quite a twinge when you stand up. If I could find an emoticon showing a man with massive googly eyes and drops of sweat I would use it now. That’s how it feels. I now secure it as close to knee level as possible.

You can get one with a longer tube, but giving one to the man who is six feet two would be too simple.

The whole point of the procedure, from my point of view, is to get a decent night’s sleep so I don’t really want to be getting up all the time to empty it. This is where the night bag comes in. It’s four times the size and you can get about 7 hours out of it before that sense of urgency alerts you to the need for emptying.

The night bag has several feet of tubing attached. I haven’t measured it yet, but it’s long enough to trail across the floor at night and get tangled in Julia’s feet.

To attach the night bag you merely connect the tube to the tap of the leg bag and open the tap. To remove it you close the tap and disconnect. Remember to leave the soft tube on the leg bag. Simple. Even an idiot can do it. Most of the time. I’ve only had one emergency sock change so far, and one trip to root through the bin for the connector…

Anyway, plastic waste.

You use a leg bag for a week, so I’ll need six, which seems a bit of a waste. However, I don’t want an infection to build up so I’ll do as I’m told.

You have to throw the night bag and tube away every day.  That’s 42 bags and about 50 yards of tubing.

I think you could open up the top of the night bags to make flower pouches. They already have eyelets for hanging and a drain hole.

However, Julia says no.

I’m sure there’s a way to repurpose the tubing too, but she isn’t keen.

So that’s 42 night bags, 50 yards of tubing and six day bags.

That’s not the end of the story, as they come in packs of one leg bag and five night bags. I need nine packs, in plastic outers, and at a ratio of 7:1 will have six surplus bags – three leg and three night. I’ll be interested to see if they have a system for taking them back into stock.

To be fair, the NHS is making big efforts in recycling and if I were to get an infection by reusing equipment I would moan at great length. You know I would.

However, I still feel bad about all this plastic.

We also have three pairs of crutches from various rugby injuries because they won’t take them back, but that’s a different story…