The recycling men haven’t been!

They should come every two weeks, but our last collection would have been on Good Friday. So they rearranged for the Friday just gone. But didn’t turn up. Nor on Saturday. Nor Sunday. So it’s just sitting there forlornly at the end of the drive.

I have had to allocate an overflow box for the extra week's copies of the Guardian. So THIS is what it was like during the Winter of Discontent!

I took a small piece of packaging out there this morning. Before I stuffed it in, my eye caught the slogan on the front.

“A delicious source of milk goodness”

Guess where?

On a milk carton?

Nope.

On... on something else milky that you would expect might be good for you?

Nope.

On the box from the Milky Bar Easter Egg that I was kindly given last week?

Yes. And what I can’t... what I struggle to... I just – well, I didn’t get annoyed because the whole world’s getting porky and this wasn’t aimed at helping. Or because I thought Trading Standards shouldn’t allow it, although possibly they shouldn’t.

It just makes you depressed because it’s such obvious, obvious, laughable bollocks. It’s not true, they know it’s not true, we know it’s not true. But we’re in this rut as a human race that we’re utterly blasé about churning out and accepting shit.

“A delicious source of milk goodness”

Person who briefed it to a marketing agency. Person who wrote it. People who decided it was good. People who presented it back to some more people. The 2378242 executives who approved it. Person who designed the box. Typesetter. Production manager and printers. Supermarket buyer.

Have none of you any dignity?!?

Delicious egg, however.

My Sunday newspaper wasn’t there again. Plucking up courage to walk to the shop.