Was ever a serial on TV ever more appropriate than the recent showing of the excellent BBC dramatisation of Little Dorrit? As banks have been crashing in global reality so we watched as greedy men queued at Mr Merdle's door and observed the bank bubble bursting to leave the characters in penury.
We observe today's mighty - global corporations - being brought low as the humble poor become exalted - well in my book anyway. The global situation - and not just in finance - is echoed in other great literature too, even bible references.
I have sung psalms for many many years. "Moab is my washpot; over Edom will I cast my shoe" is a phrase engraved upon my brain - goodness knows why. So when the journalist threw his shoe at Bush it made a great deal of sense to me.
What baffles me is why Bush didn't understand the action or the context. Surely if you are going to dabble in the affairs of another country to the extent of invading it, you really ought to have an extremely good grounding in its existing culture. Events since the invasion have shown how little the Americans understand.
But I digress and will return to the Dickension reference with which I started. It seems that every day brings a new relevelation which, apart from the value of the currency and the obvious advances in the standard of living generally, reflect with a sharp reality how little we have moved since the days of Queen Victoria.
We can see in Dicken's Mr Pancks the employee of the large financial institution, benign in its public persona but in reality a money-grabbing monstrosity with no heart and no true concern for its customers. The inhabitants of Bleeding Heart Yard portray a striking resemblance to the victims of Equitable Life or the Icelandic banks.
And then of course there is the Circumlocution Office - round and round it goes and nothing is achieved. Funny how the FSA and other government regulatory bodies come to mind.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Growth now fettered
I've just looked back and it was November last year when I blogged with a plea for sustainability to overtake the greed and unsustainable growth that the then Chancellor, now Prime Minister, was championing.
Now the chickens have come very firmly home to roost. I'm not one of those who feel aggrieved that we, the tax payers, have to foot the bill for all the borrowing. I'm content that government has done what is necessary to stop confidence pouring out of the economy. The alternative was unthinkable, so I won't even contemplate it.
But now that we're once again on an even keel - well, I hope we are - we shouldn't be talking about economics in terms of where we were because where we were was a very dangerous precipice. We need to be considering our future from a position well back from the edge of that particular cliff.
The middle classes, who will no doubt gripe about the reduction in their foreign holidays and the cost of taxing their cars, are not really hard up. They don't really have a clue what it's like counting the pennies - they have only ever counted tenners. The pensioners, God bless them, who spent their teens during WWII, will no doubt make do and mend, as they did then and consequently fare much better than those of use who have lived in more fortunate times.
Then there's a whole load of people who will have to come to terms, for the first time in their life, that when they want something they cannot necessarily just go out and buy it. They are going to have to start living within their means, taking some account of the value of their existing possessions. They will not be able to buy a new three piece suite for Christmas with payment deferred into eternity on a buy now, regret at leisure scheme. And thank goodness for it.
I long for the day when the whole high street is full of charity and used goods shops, and when builders take back to a builders' merchant all the excess that's left on site on the completion of a job. I actually want to have to meet my neighbours and enjoy their company rather than sit in my own house watching yet more TV. I want to live frugally and in harmony with the planet.
We've had a near miss with the banking crisis so please, let's learn some lessons. Let's have some real clear leadership on those matters that are of real importance and let's face up to the fact that our good fortune comes at a price for the planet and we squander it at our peril. Otherwise our next brush with disaster may be terminal and irreversible.
Now the chickens have come very firmly home to roost. I'm not one of those who feel aggrieved that we, the tax payers, have to foot the bill for all the borrowing. I'm content that government has done what is necessary to stop confidence pouring out of the economy. The alternative was unthinkable, so I won't even contemplate it.
But now that we're once again on an even keel - well, I hope we are - we shouldn't be talking about economics in terms of where we were because where we were was a very dangerous precipice. We need to be considering our future from a position well back from the edge of that particular cliff.
The middle classes, who will no doubt gripe about the reduction in their foreign holidays and the cost of taxing their cars, are not really hard up. They don't really have a clue what it's like counting the pennies - they have only ever counted tenners. The pensioners, God bless them, who spent their teens during WWII, will no doubt make do and mend, as they did then and consequently fare much better than those of use who have lived in more fortunate times.
Then there's a whole load of people who will have to come to terms, for the first time in their life, that when they want something they cannot necessarily just go out and buy it. They are going to have to start living within their means, taking some account of the value of their existing possessions. They will not be able to buy a new three piece suite for Christmas with payment deferred into eternity on a buy now, regret at leisure scheme. And thank goodness for it.
I long for the day when the whole high street is full of charity and used goods shops, and when builders take back to a builders' merchant all the excess that's left on site on the completion of a job. I actually want to have to meet my neighbours and enjoy their company rather than sit in my own house watching yet more TV. I want to live frugally and in harmony with the planet.
We've had a near miss with the banking crisis so please, let's learn some lessons. Let's have some real clear leadership on those matters that are of real importance and let's face up to the fact that our good fortune comes at a price for the planet and we squander it at our peril. Otherwise our next brush with disaster may be terminal and irreversible.
Friday, 25 July 2008
The Bank
I joined the National Westminster Bank when I was a teenager. Why? Because my parents banked there. And so it has been throughout my entire life. Mainly I’ve used friendly semi-rural branches and I have to say that at personal level the NatWest (as it became many moons ago) has been very reliable.
It’s at the business level that I have to gripe. Practically every contact I have ever had with NatWest business managers about my business account (now nearly 12 years’ old) have been unsatisfactory. What amazes me is that my experience can be so bad when I ask for so little. I do not go overdrawn, I don’t borrow from them – tried that, see below. No I pay a minimal (but still painful to my mind) sum to them to keep my money safe and to offer me a pitiful interest rate on my reserve account.
Over those twelve years I have discovered that, though I usually keep my current account obscenely buoyant, on two occasions when I’ve needed a quick loan/overdraft it’s been (a) impossible to contact “my” manager immediately because sometime they haven’t even had one assigned to me (b) to enter into any arrangement at short notice, and (c) to do so without putting a charge on my house! I ended up lending my company a couple of grand from my own personal finances the last time. It was far easier.
The Nat West in its catalogue of dealings with me dropped a direct debit arrangement without telling me because they said I’d gone too long without using it and misled me about whether or not other banks would do the same.
The then business manager made an appointment with me to talk about a complaint and failed not only to keep the appointment, but even to contact me to apologise after the event. When I complained about that, NatWest sent me flowers which made me incandescent with rage. I want good service from my bank, not flowers.
They failed to set up a direct debit correctly which made it impossible for me to cancel it when I needed to, despite the fact that two years running they allowed the payee to draw on it. I spent hours and hours over weeks trying to sort that one out. Eventually a very nice lady in a call centre admitted they’d made a complete mess of it. It was so refreshing to hear her admit their error and apologise.
A couple of years back my bank statements stopped arriving. Apparently the Post Office had sent them back marked undelivered despite me being at the same address that I have been for twelve years. When the Post Office takes the letters back, instead of the NatWest contacting me to check if I’m still here, they just stop sending statements. Believe it or not, I had to fill in a form to reinstate the statements.
I received a letter from head office a couple of months ago. It told me of two new accounts. Interested I went onto the web site. Only the details of one of the accounts were there. Never mind, though I, I would ring my business manager. Good news – I had a business manager. Bad news – he’d never heard of these accounts, didn’t know of the letter either
Talking of head office, it always writes to the right company name – ie. my trading name – whereas the bank statements come to the registered company name, which is different. Why can’t they use the right address every time I wonder? That’s presumably why the postage service gets it so wrong. And yes, the statements stopped coming about a month ago. Again same problem, Post Officer returns them, NatWest does not tell me.
The new bank manager did pop up and see me today – that’s a first - and he says he’ll reinstate the statements without me needing to sign anything – which is why my mind has turned to NatWest today. I was thinking of changing banks to one that doesn’t charge me for everyday transactions. However the trauma I envisage puts me right off. I remember when my husband and I just changed branches of NatWest many years ago. All our money disappeared into a black hole for a couple of days because someone had forgotten to set up the new account at the new branch. You remember things like that.
It’s at the business level that I have to gripe. Practically every contact I have ever had with NatWest business managers about my business account (now nearly 12 years’ old) have been unsatisfactory. What amazes me is that my experience can be so bad when I ask for so little. I do not go overdrawn, I don’t borrow from them – tried that, see below. No I pay a minimal (but still painful to my mind) sum to them to keep my money safe and to offer me a pitiful interest rate on my reserve account.
Over those twelve years I have discovered that, though I usually keep my current account obscenely buoyant, on two occasions when I’ve needed a quick loan/overdraft it’s been (a) impossible to contact “my” manager immediately because sometime they haven’t even had one assigned to me (b) to enter into any arrangement at short notice, and (c) to do so without putting a charge on my house! I ended up lending my company a couple of grand from my own personal finances the last time. It was far easier.
The Nat West in its catalogue of dealings with me dropped a direct debit arrangement without telling me because they said I’d gone too long without using it and misled me about whether or not other banks would do the same.
The then business manager made an appointment with me to talk about a complaint and failed not only to keep the appointment, but even to contact me to apologise after the event. When I complained about that, NatWest sent me flowers which made me incandescent with rage. I want good service from my bank, not flowers.
They failed to set up a direct debit correctly which made it impossible for me to cancel it when I needed to, despite the fact that two years running they allowed the payee to draw on it. I spent hours and hours over weeks trying to sort that one out. Eventually a very nice lady in a call centre admitted they’d made a complete mess of it. It was so refreshing to hear her admit their error and apologise.
A couple of years back my bank statements stopped arriving. Apparently the Post Office had sent them back marked undelivered despite me being at the same address that I have been for twelve years. When the Post Office takes the letters back, instead of the NatWest contacting me to check if I’m still here, they just stop sending statements. Believe it or not, I had to fill in a form to reinstate the statements.
I received a letter from head office a couple of months ago. It told me of two new accounts. Interested I went onto the web site. Only the details of one of the accounts were there. Never mind, though I, I would ring my business manager. Good news – I had a business manager. Bad news – he’d never heard of these accounts, didn’t know of the letter either
Talking of head office, it always writes to the right company name – ie. my trading name – whereas the bank statements come to the registered company name, which is different. Why can’t they use the right address every time I wonder? That’s presumably why the postage service gets it so wrong. And yes, the statements stopped coming about a month ago. Again same problem, Post Officer returns them, NatWest does not tell me.
The new bank manager did pop up and see me today – that’s a first - and he says he’ll reinstate the statements without me needing to sign anything – which is why my mind has turned to NatWest today. I was thinking of changing banks to one that doesn’t charge me for everyday transactions. However the trauma I envisage puts me right off. I remember when my husband and I just changed branches of NatWest many years ago. All our money disappeared into a black hole for a couple of days because someone had forgotten to set up the new account at the new branch. You remember things like that.
Thursday, 17 April 2008
Reducing the fear of tinted windows
I read in our local paper today that the police have been carrying out a campaign to catch vehicle owners with over-tinted windows, windows in cars that don't let in the requisite amount of light.
It looked suspiciously to me as if the local police authority has been sold some equipment and they are determined to use it. The piece contained a quote about the percentage of accidents which occurred where drivers could just not see. What it didn't contain is a statement giving the percentage of accidents caused by drivers who could not see because their windows were tinted beyond the permissable level. Let's face it, that's what is really important.
Don't get me wrong. I do not have an argument with the police doing their job. But I do have an argument when the local constabulary pleads - as it does on an annual basis - to having not enough resources even to communicate with the local Neighbourhood Watch coordinator.
I don't know about you but I would prefer my scarce resources, my contribution to the police authority budget, to be spent on the reduction of crime in the community and therefore the fear of crime, not the reduction of tint and the fear of over-tinted windows.
It looked suspiciously to me as if the local police authority has been sold some equipment and they are determined to use it. The piece contained a quote about the percentage of accidents which occurred where drivers could just not see. What it didn't contain is a statement giving the percentage of accidents caused by drivers who could not see because their windows were tinted beyond the permissable level. Let's face it, that's what is really important.
Don't get me wrong. I do not have an argument with the police doing their job. But I do have an argument when the local constabulary pleads - as it does on an annual basis - to having not enough resources even to communicate with the local Neighbourhood Watch coordinator.
I don't know about you but I would prefer my scarce resources, my contribution to the police authority budget, to be spent on the reduction of crime in the community and therefore the fear of crime, not the reduction of tint and the fear of over-tinted windows.
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Statin side effects
One evening my husband explained that he had been having slight pains in his chest when he walked up hills. He'd been to see the GP and had been sent to have tests at the hospital. The diagnosis was mild angina. He was prescribed three drugs, one to thin his blood, a beta blocker and statins.
After a few months - it's hard to say how many - my husband started to become anxious. He began to have periods of feeling nauseous. It came and went, but gradually it got worse. He wan't doing as much, he sat around. He wasn't himself. He worried, he fretted about his health He was becoming very quickly an old man, one who didn't want to do things but sit, read and sleep.
We were on holiday - an activity holiday. He'd reached a stage where he felt sick most of the time. We were grasping at anything - could it be a virus, could it be food poisoning? He almost stopped eating, taking just a little nourishment each day, but still he felt bad. He was miserable and I was miserable because I couldn't help feeling that this time it was for real. There was something terribly wrong with him and it was getting worse and I feared it was terminal.
At that point I took all the leaflets out of the pill boxes and checked them - could his problem be a side effect of something he was taking? But I didn't find any conclusive evidence there to suggest that his gradual malaise was drug-induced.
When we got home the GP was of course sympathetic and - yes, you've guessed - offered him further medication for his stomach problems. This was the GP who had prescribed the statins and who seemed unware of potential side effects.
Things came to a head when one evening my husband said he had a chest pain. A call to the NHS help line, intended to conjure reassurance, turned instead into a emergency. Two vehicles raced to our door; a cardiac paramedic and a full ambulance crew. After reassuring themselves that it was not a cardiac emergency my husband was admitted to the local hospital.
My daughter said to me, when she joined us in Accident & Emergency, "he looks yellow". I suppose in all the build up to this I hadn't really noticed the change but she was right - my husband was a strange colour, jaundiced it appeared. Not only did he feel ill, he looked ill too.
An overnight stay, various blood tests, tests in the cardiology department and some time later an endoscopy, must have resulted in a large bill for the National Health Service. The exact cause of his pain was never completely diagnosed but it seems it was probably due to more than one cause and the asprin - which he's been taking at completely the wrong time, on an empty stomach in the evening - cannot have helped.
I wasn't idle. I put "statins" together with "side effects" into Google and was horrified at what I found. We were not alone, far from it. There were other wives and partners talking about the state that their loved ones had found themselves in as a result of statins. There were testimonies from patients who had suffered as the results of statins. The more I delved the more I realised that my husband was suffering from statin poisoning - simple as that. An induced illness that was causing goodness knows what damage to his liver, his muscles and maybe even his heart too.
He's fine now, well as far as I can tell. I can only assume that no lasting physical damage has occurred as a result of the episode. It took about nine months for the effects to wear off, in much the same way that it was about nine months that led to the build up. I bought the book "The Great Cholesterol Con" - and I keep an eye on the growing list of International Network of Cholesterol Skeptics.
Of course friends who were as concerned as I was about my husband have heard the story, and they have warned their friends. Already I know of two other people who became ill because they were prescribed statins, and who made miraculous and sudden recoveries when the drug was ceased.
What concerns me - and that's the reason for my blog on the subject - is that I see no evidence that the tide is turning. We are still labouring under the illusion that statins are wonder drugs that should be given to everyone.
In my opinion they are not necessarily safe and in some cases positively dangerous. The idea that they should be given to people who are perfectly well is very worrying indeed.
After a few months - it's hard to say how many - my husband started to become anxious. He began to have periods of feeling nauseous. It came and went, but gradually it got worse. He wan't doing as much, he sat around. He wasn't himself. He worried, he fretted about his health He was becoming very quickly an old man, one who didn't want to do things but sit, read and sleep.
We were on holiday - an activity holiday. He'd reached a stage where he felt sick most of the time. We were grasping at anything - could it be a virus, could it be food poisoning? He almost stopped eating, taking just a little nourishment each day, but still he felt bad. He was miserable and I was miserable because I couldn't help feeling that this time it was for real. There was something terribly wrong with him and it was getting worse and I feared it was terminal.
At that point I took all the leaflets out of the pill boxes and checked them - could his problem be a side effect of something he was taking? But I didn't find any conclusive evidence there to suggest that his gradual malaise was drug-induced.
When we got home the GP was of course sympathetic and - yes, you've guessed - offered him further medication for his stomach problems. This was the GP who had prescribed the statins and who seemed unware of potential side effects.
Things came to a head when one evening my husband said he had a chest pain. A call to the NHS help line, intended to conjure reassurance, turned instead into a emergency. Two vehicles raced to our door; a cardiac paramedic and a full ambulance crew. After reassuring themselves that it was not a cardiac emergency my husband was admitted to the local hospital.
My daughter said to me, when she joined us in Accident & Emergency, "he looks yellow". I suppose in all the build up to this I hadn't really noticed the change but she was right - my husband was a strange colour, jaundiced it appeared. Not only did he feel ill, he looked ill too.
An overnight stay, various blood tests, tests in the cardiology department and some time later an endoscopy, must have resulted in a large bill for the National Health Service. The exact cause of his pain was never completely diagnosed but it seems it was probably due to more than one cause and the asprin - which he's been taking at completely the wrong time, on an empty stomach in the evening - cannot have helped.
I wasn't idle. I put "statins" together with "side effects" into Google and was horrified at what I found. We were not alone, far from it. There were other wives and partners talking about the state that their loved ones had found themselves in as a result of statins. There were testimonies from patients who had suffered as the results of statins. The more I delved the more I realised that my husband was suffering from statin poisoning - simple as that. An induced illness that was causing goodness knows what damage to his liver, his muscles and maybe even his heart too.
He's fine now, well as far as I can tell. I can only assume that no lasting physical damage has occurred as a result of the episode. It took about nine months for the effects to wear off, in much the same way that it was about nine months that led to the build up. I bought the book "The Great Cholesterol Con" - and I keep an eye on the growing list of International Network of Cholesterol Skeptics.
Of course friends who were as concerned as I was about my husband have heard the story, and they have warned their friends. Already I know of two other people who became ill because they were prescribed statins, and who made miraculous and sudden recoveries when the drug was ceased.
What concerns me - and that's the reason for my blog on the subject - is that I see no evidence that the tide is turning. We are still labouring under the illusion that statins are wonder drugs that should be given to everyone.
In my opinion they are not necessarily safe and in some cases positively dangerous. The idea that they should be given to people who are perfectly well is very worrying indeed.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Two words: Information Commissioner
How often has a friend or relative told you of some battle with officialdom where they have repeatedly provided personal information yet have been unable to get the service they require? “I rang them up and they said they couldn’t find my file,” or “they’d apparently not received the application form” or “I have personally delivered the information to their office on several occasions but they are still claiming not to have received it”... and so on.
It occurred to me that other day, as we suffered yet another shower of news about lost laptops, computer disks - and ergo lost data - that it’s nothing new. In fact it's happening every day but most of the time we don't make quite the same fuss about it.
The only difference between computerised and paper-based systems is that when a laptop goes missing it could contain a million personal details, whereas a piece of paper is a piece of paper. The mislaying of the piece of paper is still a loss of data. If you can’t find the CD it’s lost, if you cannot say where someone's file is, it's effectively lost and could be in the wrong hands.
Maybe the next time someone says they cannot do their job because they cannot find information which has clearly been given to them, the solution is to mention two words “Information Commissioner".
It occurred to me that other day, as we suffered yet another shower of news about lost laptops, computer disks - and ergo lost data - that it’s nothing new. In fact it's happening every day but most of the time we don't make quite the same fuss about it.
The only difference between computerised and paper-based systems is that when a laptop goes missing it could contain a million personal details, whereas a piece of paper is a piece of paper. The mislaying of the piece of paper is still a loss of data. If you can’t find the CD it’s lost, if you cannot say where someone's file is, it's effectively lost and could be in the wrong hands.
Maybe the next time someone says they cannot do their job because they cannot find information which has clearly been given to them, the solution is to mention two words “Information Commissioner".
Monday, 14 January 2008
Everlasting cheque clearance
I had the misfortune recently to take an action in the small claims court against someone who owed me a significant amount of money. By a chance of fate – into which I won’t go here – the action is already complicated, having been lodged in one court, then transferred to one halfway across the country, and now probably residing halfway between that court and yet another.
My delight at having received a cheque for the full amount owing, was tinged with caution. I didn’t want to call off the case too early in case the cheque were to bounce. I waited the four working day period after paying it into the NatWest. Because of the Christmas break I was advised to give it a little longer “in case of postal delays”. So I have given it 10 working days – but still the bank refuses to give me a guarantee that the money is irrefutably mine. In other words, at any time in the future, should the debtor’s cheque be returned unpaid, my account could be debited the amount.
What about all those lost letters, the ones that people said they've sent and never arrive, the tales of correspondence that turns up weeks, months - sometimes even years - later? Mistakes happen (we've heard a great deal things getting lost recently). What happens I wonder when returned cheques from ages of yore manifest themselves in rediscovered banking postal bags?
There appears to be no specific time after which a cheque is “safe”. I should have paid it in as a “special”. What’s a “special” I hear you ask? Well a “special” clearance is a service that would have cost me £15, paid to my bank the NatWest, but which would have guaranteed that the cheque had been “cleared”.
We live and learn. What I’ve learnt from this episode is that the cheque clearance system appears still to be dependent upon the banking postal service. Here’s to the digital age – may it not be too long in arriving at UK banks.
My delight at having received a cheque for the full amount owing, was tinged with caution. I didn’t want to call off the case too early in case the cheque were to bounce. I waited the four working day period after paying it into the NatWest. Because of the Christmas break I was advised to give it a little longer “in case of postal delays”. So I have given it 10 working days – but still the bank refuses to give me a guarantee that the money is irrefutably mine. In other words, at any time in the future, should the debtor’s cheque be returned unpaid, my account could be debited the amount.
What about all those lost letters, the ones that people said they've sent and never arrive, the tales of correspondence that turns up weeks, months - sometimes even years - later? Mistakes happen (we've heard a great deal things getting lost recently). What happens I wonder when returned cheques from ages of yore manifest themselves in rediscovered banking postal bags?
There appears to be no specific time after which a cheque is “safe”. I should have paid it in as a “special”. What’s a “special” I hear you ask? Well a “special” clearance is a service that would have cost me £15, paid to my bank the NatWest, but which would have guaranteed that the cheque had been “cleared”.
We live and learn. What I’ve learnt from this episode is that the cheque clearance system appears still to be dependent upon the banking postal service. Here’s to the digital age – may it not be too long in arriving at UK banks.
Friday, 11 January 2008
Rejoice! Do we see the beginning of the end of stuff?
I couldn't help feeling pleasure at the news that Marks & Spencer's not done too well over Christmas. It's not that I wish the store any harm, it's just that I cannot see how we can go on acquiring 'stuff', and retail businesses can go on expanding, in perpetuity - growing profits, selling more stuff to consumers (who already have too much stuff anyway) - without completely trashing the planet.
Eventually this greed has to end. I would rather it ended in a slow and sustained retrenchment. I would prefer an understanding that sustainability means keeping what you have, mending it, re-using it, recycling it and also entails eating less, throwing less away and growing more. I'd prefer that to what I fear might be a big bang of economic disaster with all the deprivation and poverty it will bring.
Clone street Britain will eventually reach a point at which expanding business and increased profits, the greed of consumers, shareholders and private equity investors has to stop. It's logical. It simply cannot go on the way it is.
Do all those people who rush out to save £399 by buying a new three piece suite really need one? No, very few of them do. As soon as they get home they're wondering what they are going to do with the old one, which isn't worn out, isn't unusable but just a bit saggy and needs a good clean.
Does Tesco really need to pull down the store it already has in order to build something which is even bigger, with even more stuff in it? Are people queuing to get in, queuing at the shelves to get the stuff that's there because it's got to be shared out fairly? No, of course not. Go into that supermarket and you're spoilt for choice. There's so much stuff, so many varieties of the same stuff, that it's difficult to find the stuff you really want.
We are running out of room to put stuff and money with which to buy stuff, and we've already run out of holes in the ground into which to dump the stuff which we've discarded in favour of new stuff. Could this be the beginning of the end of excess stuff? I do hope so.
Eventually this greed has to end. I would rather it ended in a slow and sustained retrenchment. I would prefer an understanding that sustainability means keeping what you have, mending it, re-using it, recycling it and also entails eating less, throwing less away and growing more. I'd prefer that to what I fear might be a big bang of economic disaster with all the deprivation and poverty it will bring.
Clone street Britain will eventually reach a point at which expanding business and increased profits, the greed of consumers, shareholders and private equity investors has to stop. It's logical. It simply cannot go on the way it is.
Do all those people who rush out to save £399 by buying a new three piece suite really need one? No, very few of them do. As soon as they get home they're wondering what they are going to do with the old one, which isn't worn out, isn't unusable but just a bit saggy and needs a good clean.
Does Tesco really need to pull down the store it already has in order to build something which is even bigger, with even more stuff in it? Are people queuing to get in, queuing at the shelves to get the stuff that's there because it's got to be shared out fairly? No, of course not. Go into that supermarket and you're spoilt for choice. There's so much stuff, so many varieties of the same stuff, that it's difficult to find the stuff you really want.
We are running out of room to put stuff and money with which to buy stuff, and we've already run out of holes in the ground into which to dump the stuff which we've discarded in favour of new stuff. Could this be the beginning of the end of excess stuff? I do hope so.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Disposable clothing - I think, girls, that it's our fault
I braved the centre of our town on Sunday although it still goes against the grain to shop on that particular day of the week. I guess you could call me old-fashioned. The object of my quest was boots. A pair of large – my feet are very large – low boots with a small heel; you know, the ones that you can tuck your jeans into.
What I discovered in every shop in town – bar one which had absolutely nothing in the style – was plastic shoes. Hardly a hint of leather anywhere. No, it was plastic shoes and boots with ridiculously thin soles and looking unlikely to last a week, let alone a month or 36. I normally keep my shoes for years – well I have to with my feet, because large shoes are so hard to come by.
This plastic disposable footwear lark got me thinking. It's us, the women of the western world, who are responsible in the main for the current trend of disposable possessions. We are culpable. We are probably most to blame for for the landfill, for the carbon emissions, for the Kamikazi nature of the modern world. Think about it. Disposable fashion clothes. What a terrible terrible waste. And the worst thing of all is that our eastern cousins think our way of life is something to be desired.
Yes, we’re back into buying small lumps of nylon or polyester which, if you put a match to them, would immediately sizzle into a small plastic lump. Do you remember those heady days of synthetic fibres – the early days that is? It was so exciting. Crimplene in all its glory served us well. But we advanced beyond that. But now it’s back with a vengeance. Cheap nasty clingy stuff, thin, no warmth at all, without an ounce of style, pulled tight and stretched in furrows of tension past mounds of over-ample bosoms. It’s not even very attractive.
It’s not men that shop this way is it? OK, men might follow fashion to a certain extent but it’s not men who undertake retail therapy. (I would also hazard a guess that it’s generally not men who pick most holiday venues in far flung corners of the globe, necessitating air travel, but that’s another topic.)
So there we have it, China, labouring under its pall of pollution is churning out millions of these pieces of tat – clothes and shoes. We women wear them a couple of times and then consign them to the charity shop or Freecycle them with a smug feeling of satisfaction that we’re doing the planet a favour, whereas in fact we are doing quite the opposite.
When the history of the 2000s comes to be written what will they say of us girls?
What I discovered in every shop in town – bar one which had absolutely nothing in the style – was plastic shoes. Hardly a hint of leather anywhere. No, it was plastic shoes and boots with ridiculously thin soles and looking unlikely to last a week, let alone a month or 36. I normally keep my shoes for years – well I have to with my feet, because large shoes are so hard to come by.
This plastic disposable footwear lark got me thinking. It's us, the women of the western world, who are responsible in the main for the current trend of disposable possessions. We are culpable. We are probably most to blame for for the landfill, for the carbon emissions, for the Kamikazi nature of the modern world. Think about it. Disposable fashion clothes. What a terrible terrible waste. And the worst thing of all is that our eastern cousins think our way of life is something to be desired.
Yes, we’re back into buying small lumps of nylon or polyester which, if you put a match to them, would immediately sizzle into a small plastic lump. Do you remember those heady days of synthetic fibres – the early days that is? It was so exciting. Crimplene in all its glory served us well. But we advanced beyond that. But now it’s back with a vengeance. Cheap nasty clingy stuff, thin, no warmth at all, without an ounce of style, pulled tight and stretched in furrows of tension past mounds of over-ample bosoms. It’s not even very attractive.
It’s not men that shop this way is it? OK, men might follow fashion to a certain extent but it’s not men who undertake retail therapy. (I would also hazard a guess that it’s generally not men who pick most holiday venues in far flung corners of the globe, necessitating air travel, but that’s another topic.)
So there we have it, China, labouring under its pall of pollution is churning out millions of these pieces of tat – clothes and shoes. We women wear them a couple of times and then consign them to the charity shop or Freecycle them with a smug feeling of satisfaction that we’re doing the planet a favour, whereas in fact we are doing quite the opposite.
When the history of the 2000s comes to be written what will they say of us girls?
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