Neophobia
Dear Granny D
This is going to sound ridiculous, I know, but I have somehow developed a fear of anything new. Rather appropriately, my career background reflects a life of working with recyclables; many a happy hour has been spent carrying out roadside collections, sorting the tins from the bottles, even cardboard crushing. I have now passed the big six-0 and feel as passionate about recycling as I ever did, if not more.
I am, at present, the Manager of a charitable organisation that focuses on ways of protecting the environment through sustainable energy. We have solar panels and a wood-burning boiler, and we also recycle items of furniture and electrical items that can be reused by the community, instead of just going straight to landfill.
I know you might think that’s all very commendable, but it’s turned into somewhat of an obsession. These days, I can’t even look at a brand new PG Tips teabag without visualising an exploited primate wearing a wig and silly dress, or an emaciated Sri Lankan child plucking tea leaves under a sweltering mid-day sun; The injustice of it all; I’d much rather dig one out of the bin and rehydrate it.
As for waste paper! Only yesterday, along with a stale garibaldi I’d found in Morrison’s car park and a cup of camomile tea, I took my Guardian newspaper to the toilet for a quick read and, although there was plenty of toilet paper on the roll… well, I don’t think I need to fill in the spaces. (It sounds like you already have, Sweetie! Not to worry, if the Editor of the Guardian ever finds it, you’ll probably be offered your own column).
It has now got to the point where I’m imagining people whispering behind my back. For instance, last Monday, I could have sworn one of the drivers referred to me as a wet Liberal. I was mortified, as I see myself as middle class and always have. I’ve a jolly good mind to write him a stern letter; see how he likes that!
This is going to sound ridiculous, I know, but I have somehow developed a fear of anything new. Rather appropriately, my career background reflects a life of working with recyclables; many a happy hour has been spent carrying out roadside collections, sorting the tins from the bottles, even cardboard crushing. I have now passed the big six-0 and feel as passionate about recycling as I ever did, if not more.
I am, at present, the Manager of a charitable organisation that focuses on ways of protecting the environment through sustainable energy. We have solar panels and a wood-burning boiler, and we also recycle items of furniture and electrical items that can be reused by the community, instead of just going straight to landfill.
I know you might think that’s all very commendable, but it’s turned into somewhat of an obsession. These days, I can’t even look at a brand new PG Tips teabag without visualising an exploited primate wearing a wig and silly dress, or an emaciated Sri Lankan child plucking tea leaves under a sweltering mid-day sun; The injustice of it all; I’d much rather dig one out of the bin and rehydrate it.
As for waste paper! Only yesterday, along with a stale garibaldi I’d found in Morrison’s car park and a cup of camomile tea, I took my Guardian newspaper to the toilet for a quick read and, although there was plenty of toilet paper on the roll… well, I don’t think I need to fill in the spaces. (It sounds like you already have, Sweetie! Not to worry, if the Editor of the Guardian ever finds it, you’ll probably be offered your own column).
It has now got to the point where I’m imagining people whispering behind my back. For instance, last Monday, I could have sworn one of the drivers referred to me as a wet Liberal. I was mortified, as I see myself as middle class and always have. I’ve a jolly good mind to write him a stern letter; see how he likes that!
Dot's flexible friend, Diana Moran, shows how it's done
But here is the worse bit of all, Granny D; with my partner, Dorothy, away for the weekend, I went through her drawers and collected a few bits of clothing, like a pair of shoulder pads and an old green Lycra catsuit she used to wear when exercising to the Green Goddess on BBC's Breakfast Time many years ago, and I cobbled together a Supermanesque outfit, upon which I felt-tipped the letter ‘R’ on my chest. Ok, so maybe the Y-fronts on the outside were a little excessive but I felt really turned on, so much so, I recycled the entire contents of my fridge, some of which was still in date. It was a liberating experience, I can tell you.
So what do you think, Granny D? Am I over-reacting?
So what do you think, Granny D? Am I over-reacting?
Last Vegas... Is this the end of the PG Tips commercials for Johnny?
Dear Ian
To begin with, visualising an exploited primate whenever you see a PG Tips teabag? That is a bit OTT. Anyway, I’m not sure if Johnny Vegas still does those ads.
As for your problem as a whole, it sounds to me like this is a phobia that has gradually developed throughout adolescence and has hung around into adulthood. Tell me, Ian, and be honest, whilst the other boys you went to school with were wearing hipsters and frigging just about anything that resembled a female behind the bike sheds, were you still donning your corduroys and tank top and oiling your pushbike in the back yard? Instead of chatting up the girls, were you the one that was masturbating at the back of the classroom? Hmm, I think that’s a given, don’t you?
Let me tell you something, Ian, I have spent a lifetime in the retail trade. There hasn’t been a NEXT, NEWLOOK or Dorothy Perkins within a twenty-mile radius of me that I haven’t crossed the threshold of. In fact, such is the need to satisfy my craving for retail therapy, I don’t care how many third world children it takes to knock out a PRIMARK top, if it’s a bargain, I won’t think twice about stepping over a downed pensioner to get it. It's all part of natural selection as far as I'm concerned.
You must focus the wider picture. Where would we be if everyone decided to recycle? All the factories would be closing down; the unemployment levels would rise, everyone would be walking round in rags, prostituting themselves and begging for food. You may laugh, but it’s a miserable existence; ask those in Sheffield. It’d even effect the wealthy. Imagine people sat in Costa drinking their cappuccinos out of plastic cups. The world would be on the brink of collapse.
So my advice is to get a grip, hon’. Never mind drying out the teabags, try being a little wasteful for once in your life. Use one of the old light bulbs instead of an energy-saver, and leave it on even when you’re not at home. Yes, it’s one small step, but it will lead to greater things. Who knows, one day you may be strong enough to fly-tip an old car tyre or consign a fridge freezer to landfill instead of listing it on Freecycle.
Remember, Confucius once say, “Out with the old and in with the new.” Actually, it might have been Anthea Redfern, but you take my point.
Ciao
Granny D
To begin with, visualising an exploited primate whenever you see a PG Tips teabag? That is a bit OTT. Anyway, I’m not sure if Johnny Vegas still does those ads.
As for your problem as a whole, it sounds to me like this is a phobia that has gradually developed throughout adolescence and has hung around into adulthood. Tell me, Ian, and be honest, whilst the other boys you went to school with were wearing hipsters and frigging just about anything that resembled a female behind the bike sheds, were you still donning your corduroys and tank top and oiling your pushbike in the back yard? Instead of chatting up the girls, were you the one that was masturbating at the back of the classroom? Hmm, I think that’s a given, don’t you?
Let me tell you something, Ian, I have spent a lifetime in the retail trade. There hasn’t been a NEXT, NEWLOOK or Dorothy Perkins within a twenty-mile radius of me that I haven’t crossed the threshold of. In fact, such is the need to satisfy my craving for retail therapy, I don’t care how many third world children it takes to knock out a PRIMARK top, if it’s a bargain, I won’t think twice about stepping over a downed pensioner to get it. It's all part of natural selection as far as I'm concerned.
You must focus the wider picture. Where would we be if everyone decided to recycle? All the factories would be closing down; the unemployment levels would rise, everyone would be walking round in rags, prostituting themselves and begging for food. You may laugh, but it’s a miserable existence; ask those in Sheffield. It’d even effect the wealthy. Imagine people sat in Costa drinking their cappuccinos out of plastic cups. The world would be on the brink of collapse.
So my advice is to get a grip, hon’. Never mind drying out the teabags, try being a little wasteful for once in your life. Use one of the old light bulbs instead of an energy-saver, and leave it on even when you’re not at home. Yes, it’s one small step, but it will lead to greater things. Who knows, one day you may be strong enough to fly-tip an old car tyre or consign a fridge freezer to landfill instead of listing it on Freecycle.
Remember, Confucius once say, “Out with the old and in with the new.” Actually, it might have been Anthea Redfern, but you take my point.
Ciao
Granny D
