in this house."
We have a polite reminder on the door. It has been there for years. The Senior Cat stopped smoking when I was a kitten. I stopped feeling car sick on every journey, no matter how short, at the same time.
I have never as much as tried to smoke a cigarette. My brother tried one - or pretended to try one - just once. He declared it "vile" and left it to others. Middle Cat is so fiercely anti smoking she once told one of her uncles-in-law that she would wait to take him somewhere . Doing that to a Cypriot male earned her the applause of her Cypriot female in-laws (none of whom smoke) and the approbation of the males.
I know the youngest of us will have tried - probably more than once. She had a much stronger rebellious streak but she doesn't smoke either.
Of course I, like most of my generation, have had to endure other people's cigarette smoke. Staff rooms used to be a fog of smoke. After a late afternoon staff meeting I would go home and wash everything I had on - as well as myself. I avoided social occasions where people would be smoking in an enclosed space simply because I would always leave feeling physically ill.
And almost everyone we know doesn't smoke. I still leave the note on the door because you never know who might come. Most people would ask these days but I don't want to risk having someone smoke in the house. These days the Senior Cat has wood dust induced asthma and cigarette smoke would just make the situation worse.
Yesterday though I had to go to the Post Office to pay a bill for the Senior Cat. Outside I met someone I know. He is still quite a heavy smoker. It used to be 60 a day and now it is down to 20. He had just taken out his cigarettes. He was about to shake one out of the packet. He saw me, sighed, and put them away.
"B....hell Cat, did you have to turn up just now?"
I looked at him.
"I thought I'd get one in before M...(his wife) gets out of there," he told me looking towards the Post Office.
"Bad luck," I said. He knows better than to light up in front of me. I once told him, quite politely, that I cannot tolerate cigarette smoke.
And I, naughtily perhaps, stood there and talked to him until his wife came out. She knew exactly what I had done too because she gave me a discreet "thumbs up" as they left.
I don't suppose it has done much good though. His breathing is ragged these days. He has that "smokers' cough". It just makes me wonder why anyone would actually want to smoke...but they say it is one of the most addictive drugs around.
I guess I am lucky never to have even wanted to try.
Saturday, 6 August 2016
Friday, 5 August 2016
"And the biscuit tin was always
full."
One after another her three children and then her eldest grandchild said that.
Yes, we went to another funeral yesterday, the funeral of a remarkable woman. She was the sort of person most people don't really know about until it is too late.
B.... was part of my life for almost all my life. I can hear her voice now - quiet, calm, and reassuring.
She was born on a farm on the "west coast" of this state. Her parents did not have a great deal. She had to repeat the last year of primary school twice because she wasn't old enough to leave school. She left at 13 - the minimum age back then - and went to work on her parents' farm. It meant she could turn her hand to almost anything on the farm by the time she met her husband five years later.
One of the photos in the montage being shown before the service began showed her milking a cow. I heard someone behind me say softly to someone else, "I didn't know B....could milk."
Oh yes, she could milk. She once showed me how it was done - on a cow belonging to a neighbouring farmer. The cow was startled - but cooperative.
We met her and her family when we moved from one school to another. She was the second person to arrive at our door - the first was the chairman of the school committee but he happened to be across the road when our car pulled up.
"No, I am most definitely not stopping. I just thought you might find it useful to have some food today."
She handed my mother a complete meal - and left. She knew when to interfere, how to do it, and how long to stay. We met the rest of the family at church on Sunday.
It went from there. B....and her husband ran a "colony" for alcoholic and homeless men. It was several miles down the road from us. There is a newspaper clipping somewhere. In it she is described as the "other-mother" of these men. Each Christmas she made each of them a small fruit cake - using tuna tins which had been scrubbed to within an inch of their usefulness.
There were always other people at their table..."ministers and teachers" one of her children said yesterday. Yes, we were part of the teacher contingent - but we were more than that. Her children were much the same age. We grew up together at the important times in our lives. There were always other people who needed help. I remember one occasion when she was looking after two more children, not her own. There was never a lot of money either but she could, as her children also said, "make something out of nothing".
They eventually moved to the city. It made no real difference to B... there were still people who needed to be cared for. They went to a new church - and found new people in need. There were the boat people from Vietnam and, later, Sudanese refugees. There were English lessons, lessons in how to shop in our shops - and where to find the best produce at the cheapest prices - lessons in gardening, sewing, and cooking. B...and her husband did three stints in Canada as "not quite missionaries" working among the poor in Vancouver. They worked at the hospital in Darwin, in Katherine, and in Ernabella - the last meant "camping out". They were used to all that. They travelled Australia towing a small van behind a sturdy car. They went to places where people only now venture with a 4WD and GPS. Her husband knew he could fix pretty well anything on the car - and she would take her preserving pan in case there was a glut of fruit somewhere. Her "quandong" jam was legendary.
She won prizes in the Royal Show for her cooking - but only after her children insisted she enter. For her show time was about volunteering to organise the canteen which feeds the farmers early in the morning and late at night.
After my mother died B...she arrived with a large container of biscuits. "I know you will have to put the kettle on more than once."
She had the Senior Cat and me there for meals far more often than they came to us. I tried but it was "No, we'd like you to come here." She made bread especially for the Senior Cat. There would be a roast or one of her famous pasty slices - crammed with meat and vegetables. She always gave me biscuits to bring home.
Once sitting in a chair she would pick up her knitting - pullovers and cardigans for her husband or children or grandchildren, blankets for charity. She made me a wonderful beret before I left for London - and mended it twice because I wore it so much. I made her a shawl, a lace one with a pattern of sheep on it. It was one of the few things I really did for her.
And yesterday, yesterday I did the last thing I could do for her - the last thing but one. I went to her funeral. She was 92.
But yes, there is one last thing I can do for her. I can follow her example and try my best to help others when they need it. I might not keep the biscuit tin full in the way she did but I'll try to keep it full of help for those in need.
One after another her three children and then her eldest grandchild said that.
Yes, we went to another funeral yesterday, the funeral of a remarkable woman. She was the sort of person most people don't really know about until it is too late.
B.... was part of my life for almost all my life. I can hear her voice now - quiet, calm, and reassuring.
She was born on a farm on the "west coast" of this state. Her parents did not have a great deal. She had to repeat the last year of primary school twice because she wasn't old enough to leave school. She left at 13 - the minimum age back then - and went to work on her parents' farm. It meant she could turn her hand to almost anything on the farm by the time she met her husband five years later.
One of the photos in the montage being shown before the service began showed her milking a cow. I heard someone behind me say softly to someone else, "I didn't know B....could milk."
Oh yes, she could milk. She once showed me how it was done - on a cow belonging to a neighbouring farmer. The cow was startled - but cooperative.
We met her and her family when we moved from one school to another. She was the second person to arrive at our door - the first was the chairman of the school committee but he happened to be across the road when our car pulled up.
"No, I am most definitely not stopping. I just thought you might find it useful to have some food today."
She handed my mother a complete meal - and left. She knew when to interfere, how to do it, and how long to stay. We met the rest of the family at church on Sunday.
It went from there. B....and her husband ran a "colony" for alcoholic and homeless men. It was several miles down the road from us. There is a newspaper clipping somewhere. In it she is described as the "other-mother" of these men. Each Christmas she made each of them a small fruit cake - using tuna tins which had been scrubbed to within an inch of their usefulness.
There were always other people at their table..."ministers and teachers" one of her children said yesterday. Yes, we were part of the teacher contingent - but we were more than that. Her children were much the same age. We grew up together at the important times in our lives. There were always other people who needed help. I remember one occasion when she was looking after two more children, not her own. There was never a lot of money either but she could, as her children also said, "make something out of nothing".
They eventually moved to the city. It made no real difference to B... there were still people who needed to be cared for. They went to a new church - and found new people in need. There were the boat people from Vietnam and, later, Sudanese refugees. There were English lessons, lessons in how to shop in our shops - and where to find the best produce at the cheapest prices - lessons in gardening, sewing, and cooking. B...and her husband did three stints in Canada as "not quite missionaries" working among the poor in Vancouver. They worked at the hospital in Darwin, in Katherine, and in Ernabella - the last meant "camping out". They were used to all that. They travelled Australia towing a small van behind a sturdy car. They went to places where people only now venture with a 4WD and GPS. Her husband knew he could fix pretty well anything on the car - and she would take her preserving pan in case there was a glut of fruit somewhere. Her "quandong" jam was legendary.
She won prizes in the Royal Show for her cooking - but only after her children insisted she enter. For her show time was about volunteering to organise the canteen which feeds the farmers early in the morning and late at night.
After my mother died B...she arrived with a large container of biscuits. "I know you will have to put the kettle on more than once."
She had the Senior Cat and me there for meals far more often than they came to us. I tried but it was "No, we'd like you to come here." She made bread especially for the Senior Cat. There would be a roast or one of her famous pasty slices - crammed with meat and vegetables. She always gave me biscuits to bring home.
Once sitting in a chair she would pick up her knitting - pullovers and cardigans for her husband or children or grandchildren, blankets for charity. She made me a wonderful beret before I left for London - and mended it twice because I wore it so much. I made her a shawl, a lace one with a pattern of sheep on it. It was one of the few things I really did for her.
And yesterday, yesterday I did the last thing I could do for her - the last thing but one. I went to her funeral. She was 92.
But yes, there is one last thing I can do for her. I can follow her example and try my best to help others when they need it. I might not keep the biscuit tin full in the way she did but I'll try to keep it full of help for those in need.
Thursday, 4 August 2016
Census 2016
Oh yes, the Census.
Now I do happen to think the Census is important. It is essential for future planning. The government does need to know if thousands upon thousands of kittens have arrived and will need schooling. They do need to know whether cats in the ninth lives are likely to need care. There is much more they need to know too.
Last year I was part of a research project which required some people to fill out "mini" census forms on line. The Bureau of Statistics must have decided this would work because they have gone ahead with this and people are being asked to fill out the form on-line.
I do have concerns about this because you are now required to put your name on the form. (I can see no good reason for this. It seems to fly in the face of privacy claims.) You also need to add your date of birth of course - and details about such things as income, employment and religion. I am very definitely "employed" but the income I get does not reflect the hours I work each week.
There are several questions that it is impossible to answer satisfactorily. The question about languages always puzzles me. It is a much more complex issue than they make it out to be and the answers people give don't necessarily reflect the potential need for services.
But at least I know I can fill the form out - provided that the website doesn't crash.
This may be where the problems start. Census night is next week. Some people still don't have the letter giving them the number they need to access the website. If they don't want to fill it out online then they need that number to phone the ABS to send them a paper form. If you want to put "other" for gender then you need a paper form too. If you do have the letter and the number and you are trying to phone the ABS then you can find yourself in more strife - because, all too often, they don't answer the phone.
People have simply been giving up - even with the threat of a hefty fine. Someone asked me the other day whether she should tell the ABS that her daughter (who lives at another address) was away overseas. I told her not to bother. If the ABS want to follow up the lack of a response her daughter only needs to show them her passport which will tell them she is out of the country. Nevertheless such things should be made clear in the information people receive.
I wonder at this chaos. The ABS has four years to prepare for each census. They now say they intend to keep the data for four years - because it will take them that long to analyse it. Really? They claim about 65% of households will answer it online - and that means that the data will already be keyed in. It shouldn't take them that long to work on it.If it does then the data will be out of date by the time it is made public.
Perhaps it is time to have a sense-us on the census?
Now I do happen to think the Census is important. It is essential for future planning. The government does need to know if thousands upon thousands of kittens have arrived and will need schooling. They do need to know whether cats in the ninth lives are likely to need care. There is much more they need to know too.
Last year I was part of a research project which required some people to fill out "mini" census forms on line. The Bureau of Statistics must have decided this would work because they have gone ahead with this and people are being asked to fill out the form on-line.
I do have concerns about this because you are now required to put your name on the form. (I can see no good reason for this. It seems to fly in the face of privacy claims.) You also need to add your date of birth of course - and details about such things as income, employment and religion. I am very definitely "employed" but the income I get does not reflect the hours I work each week.
There are several questions that it is impossible to answer satisfactorily. The question about languages always puzzles me. It is a much more complex issue than they make it out to be and the answers people give don't necessarily reflect the potential need for services.
But at least I know I can fill the form out - provided that the website doesn't crash.
This may be where the problems start. Census night is next week. Some people still don't have the letter giving them the number they need to access the website. If they don't want to fill it out online then they need that number to phone the ABS to send them a paper form. If you want to put "other" for gender then you need a paper form too. If you do have the letter and the number and you are trying to phone the ABS then you can find yourself in more strife - because, all too often, they don't answer the phone.
People have simply been giving up - even with the threat of a hefty fine. Someone asked me the other day whether she should tell the ABS that her daughter (who lives at another address) was away overseas. I told her not to bother. If the ABS want to follow up the lack of a response her daughter only needs to show them her passport which will tell them she is out of the country. Nevertheless such things should be made clear in the information people receive.
I wonder at this chaos. The ABS has four years to prepare for each census. They now say they intend to keep the data for four years - because it will take them that long to analyse it. Really? They claim about 65% of households will answer it online - and that means that the data will already be keyed in. It shouldn't take them that long to work on it.If it does then the data will be out of date by the time it is made public.
Perhaps it is time to have a sense-us on the census?
Wednesday, 3 August 2016
Being a first time mother at 63
is irresponsible. It is also selfish.
The woman who made the front page news in today's paper is not considering the child at all. That child, a girl, is going to be looking after a mother older than many grandmothers by the time she is in her teens. Her father, currently aged 76, may not even be alive. If he is he will be older than the Senior Cat before the girl reaches legal adulthood.
What on earth were her parents thinking of?
I know someone who had her first child in her forties. She and her husband had tried for years to have a child. They had reached the point of believing it was no longer possible when the baby came along. I like their daughter, now an adult, very much. At the present time she is finishing a university course with honours. All that is good but she also has multiple health problems and they are constant worry for her and her parents.
I remember their concern when a Romanian woman became pregnant and gave birth at 66. When a German woman gave birth to quadruplets at 65 they were even more concerned.
"Mum was old enough," my friend's daughter told me, "What if the kids have problems like mine?"
I know someone with triplets - and it has been incredibly hard work. She admits she would not have coped if she had not had help from her mother and even the then four year old daughter. Eleven years on she admits, "I couldn't do it now."
But I also look on it from the point of view of the child. I remember my father's cousin in Canberra. He was in his fifties when he first became a father. He and his wife adopted and then had two children naturally. His daughter once said to me, "The problem with the boys is they have a grandfather for a father." I knew what she meant. He didn't have the energy to father the boys in the way a younger man might. He couldn't kick a football or keep up with their other activities.
And yes, you will - all things being equal - lose your parents sooner. I know how hard it has been for Ms Whirlwind growing up without a mother. However much "mothering" she gets from other people it is not the same - and she knows it.
Is having a child at 66, however much you may want one, really fair on the child?
The woman who made the front page news in today's paper is not considering the child at all. That child, a girl, is going to be looking after a mother older than many grandmothers by the time she is in her teens. Her father, currently aged 76, may not even be alive. If he is he will be older than the Senior Cat before the girl reaches legal adulthood.
What on earth were her parents thinking of?
I know someone who had her first child in her forties. She and her husband had tried for years to have a child. They had reached the point of believing it was no longer possible when the baby came along. I like their daughter, now an adult, very much. At the present time she is finishing a university course with honours. All that is good but she also has multiple health problems and they are constant worry for her and her parents.
I remember their concern when a Romanian woman became pregnant and gave birth at 66. When a German woman gave birth to quadruplets at 65 they were even more concerned.
"Mum was old enough," my friend's daughter told me, "What if the kids have problems like mine?"
I know someone with triplets - and it has been incredibly hard work. She admits she would not have coped if she had not had help from her mother and even the then four year old daughter. Eleven years on she admits, "I couldn't do it now."
But I also look on it from the point of view of the child. I remember my father's cousin in Canberra. He was in his fifties when he first became a father. He and his wife adopted and then had two children naturally. His daughter once said to me, "The problem with the boys is they have a grandfather for a father." I knew what she meant. He didn't have the energy to father the boys in the way a younger man might. He couldn't kick a football or keep up with their other activities.
And yes, you will - all things being equal - lose your parents sooner. I know how hard it has been for Ms Whirlwind growing up without a mother. However much "mothering" she gets from other people it is not the same - and she knows it.
Is having a child at 66, however much you may want one, really fair on the child?
Tuesday, 2 August 2016
The rules of engagement on
social media are different. I know that. I don't expect all the people I have "friended" or "followed" there to be actual friends in real life - even when they have followed me back.
I can remember an occasion on which someone else I know proudly announced that he was "friends" with someone quite well known on Facebook. Some months later he actually met them at an event and, of course, they had no idea who he was. He was devastated. Their "friend" list run to thousands.
I cannot find the article - although I printed off a copy for the Senior Cat to read - but I recently read something about how many friends people need and how many they can handle on a face to face basis.
From memory it said everyone needs at least one friend and, as a minimum, it is preferable to have three or four. About the most people can cope with is, again from memory, about 120. It is possible to know more people than that. I do. I suspect many people do but, for me, these people are acquaintances - not friends. My definition of friendship is something like "do I do more than just pass the time of day?" with them. Would I feel comfortable about phoning them? In other words, would they know who I was if I phoned them? Would I "have a cuppa", have an extended conversation, loan them something, go somewhere with them, give them more than a little casual help? Even then I know that there are degrees of friendship.
I was surprised recently when someone else suggested that the people in a group I belong to were "friends". Some of the people in the group are friends but I would consider most people "acquaintances" - people I am on social greeting terms with.
I know many social media "friendships" are really just such acquaintances. If the other person recognises your name they will be polite - and that's all you can expect. There will be a few, a treasured few, who have become more than that. When you eventually meet them they will be as pleased as you are at the physical meeting. Your perception of each other will have been pretty accurate and you will get along well together. You might well "have a cuppa" - and you will both take it from there.
I have met several people I have come to know through social media. One has actually stayed with Middle Cat. Middle Cat's boys have stayed with her. I have met another for that "cuppa" more than once - and if she moves back to the city we may see one another more often. There's another one I felt instantly comfortable with - we sat in the shade on a very hot day and talked and talked! I have yet to meet some of the people who will read this - but I hope I will. They have expressed a desire to meet. That's good. We all know that the Senior Cat won't be here when it happens and I know they understand that. I hope I'll have the confidence to make the journey.
But there are still rules of engagement for other relationships. Even on social media it is not polite to walk out on the many people who have given you a great deal of support without, at very least, saying something like, "Social media has become too much for me to handle. It's too time consuming. Please don't take it personally but I am 'unfriending' a lot of you."
Now you will never what support they might have given you - because they aren't going to know what you might need.
I can remember an occasion on which someone else I know proudly announced that he was "friends" with someone quite well known on Facebook. Some months later he actually met them at an event and, of course, they had no idea who he was. He was devastated. Their "friend" list run to thousands.
I cannot find the article - although I printed off a copy for the Senior Cat to read - but I recently read something about how many friends people need and how many they can handle on a face to face basis.
From memory it said everyone needs at least one friend and, as a minimum, it is preferable to have three or four. About the most people can cope with is, again from memory, about 120. It is possible to know more people than that. I do. I suspect many people do but, for me, these people are acquaintances - not friends. My definition of friendship is something like "do I do more than just pass the time of day?" with them. Would I feel comfortable about phoning them? In other words, would they know who I was if I phoned them? Would I "have a cuppa", have an extended conversation, loan them something, go somewhere with them, give them more than a little casual help? Even then I know that there are degrees of friendship.
I was surprised recently when someone else suggested that the people in a group I belong to were "friends". Some of the people in the group are friends but I would consider most people "acquaintances" - people I am on social greeting terms with.
I know many social media "friendships" are really just such acquaintances. If the other person recognises your name they will be polite - and that's all you can expect. There will be a few, a treasured few, who have become more than that. When you eventually meet them they will be as pleased as you are at the physical meeting. Your perception of each other will have been pretty accurate and you will get along well together. You might well "have a cuppa" - and you will both take it from there.
I have met several people I have come to know through social media. One has actually stayed with Middle Cat. Middle Cat's boys have stayed with her. I have met another for that "cuppa" more than once - and if she moves back to the city we may see one another more often. There's another one I felt instantly comfortable with - we sat in the shade on a very hot day and talked and talked! I have yet to meet some of the people who will read this - but I hope I will. They have expressed a desire to meet. That's good. We all know that the Senior Cat won't be here when it happens and I know they understand that. I hope I'll have the confidence to make the journey.
But there are still rules of engagement for other relationships. Even on social media it is not polite to walk out on the many people who have given you a great deal of support without, at very least, saying something like, "Social media has become too much for me to handle. It's too time consuming. Please don't take it personally but I am 'unfriending' a lot of you."
Now you will never what support they might have given you - because they aren't going to know what you might need.
Spending money you don't
have on a false advertising campaign in order to convince the local population that all is well seems an extraordinary thing to do. However the Premier of this state plans to do just that. He is "tired of people talking it down".
Ummm.... hold on a moment. This state has the highest unemployment rate in the country. At 7.8% and edging towards 8% it is not something to boast about. Power prices are almost twice that as in a neighbouring state. Local business is choking in red tape and drowning in additional taxes.
The Premier knows all that. He also knows that the much lauded "submarine contract" is not the lifesaver it is being touted as. He knows that the "tourist attractions" of the Tour Down Under and the Clipsal 500 are not going to save the economy - however much he tries to pretend otherwise. If that little town in the north where they make steel really does go under - and it could - then it will not be the fault of the federal government but the fault of the state government. Of course the federal government will get the blame - just as they got the blame for the demise of the car industry.
The state is almost a basket case - almost. We could turn things around but it will take major policy changes - the sort that a government beholden to the union movement won't want to make.
We don't go to an election until the 17th March 2018. The "fixed term" of parliament was considered to be a good idea but there are many who must now regret it. The proposed advertising campaign will of course be subtle, or not so subtle, political advertising for the government. It will be just far enough away from the polling date for them to claim it is an "information" campaign - and just close enough that they hope it will persuade people to once again vote for them.
I can think of better ways to spend hundreds of millions of dollars. Almost certainly everyone I know will feel the same way - even the party faithful.
So, what would you spend say 100 million dollars on if you were the Premier of an almost basket case state?
Ummm.... hold on a moment. This state has the highest unemployment rate in the country. At 7.8% and edging towards 8% it is not something to boast about. Power prices are almost twice that as in a neighbouring state. Local business is choking in red tape and drowning in additional taxes.
The Premier knows all that. He also knows that the much lauded "submarine contract" is not the lifesaver it is being touted as. He knows that the "tourist attractions" of the Tour Down Under and the Clipsal 500 are not going to save the economy - however much he tries to pretend otherwise. If that little town in the north where they make steel really does go under - and it could - then it will not be the fault of the federal government but the fault of the state government. Of course the federal government will get the blame - just as they got the blame for the demise of the car industry.
The state is almost a basket case - almost. We could turn things around but it will take major policy changes - the sort that a government beholden to the union movement won't want to make.
We don't go to an election until the 17th March 2018. The "fixed term" of parliament was considered to be a good idea but there are many who must now regret it. The proposed advertising campaign will of course be subtle, or not so subtle, political advertising for the government. It will be just far enough away from the polling date for them to claim it is an "information" campaign - and just close enough that they hope it will persuade people to once again vote for them.
I can think of better ways to spend hundreds of millions of dollars. Almost certainly everyone I know will feel the same way - even the party faithful.
So, what would you spend say 100 million dollars on if you were the Premier of an almost basket case state?
Monday, 1 August 2016
"Do you want a bag?"
the boy at the check out asked me.
"No thanks, I have my own," I told him. Of course, as usual, it was underneath the groceries in my trolley. Will I ever learn to keep the shopping bags on top where they are ready for packing? Probably not. Some people manage it but I don't.
But I do use my own bags. I do remember them. I have been doing it for years - far longer than from the beginning of the "ban on plastic bags". I have quite a collection. Many of them have had other things in them before hand. Some of them have been advertising material. I have a bright red one which advertises the state newspaper - or rather it should but I have turned it inside out so it doesn't advertise anything. I have done the same with the black bag and the orange bag which have both, at varying times, advertised the local shopping centre. I have left the very sturdy one from the greengrocer as it is. I don't mind advertising that shop and the smiling banana on the outside is cheerful. I have green ones from the time the supermarkets went "green". I also have some nylon bags that fold up to almost nothing at all. I bought those in the local "cheap" shop. I can wash those. I use them for meat and for frozen items - before I put them in the lime green "cool bag".
I note though that there are still people who will pay for bags. I wonder how much it costs them each year?
For years our local supermarkets used very sturdy brown paper bags for the groceries. They were large and I occasionally used one and then recycled it. It was used as a "cat" bag. We had two cats at the time and they both loved wriggling into the bags and playing in them. One would often sleep in one. Other people told us their cats did the same thing.
It is my one regret about the bag ban. They just don't have those sleeping bags for cats any more.
"No thanks, I have my own," I told him. Of course, as usual, it was underneath the groceries in my trolley. Will I ever learn to keep the shopping bags on top where they are ready for packing? Probably not. Some people manage it but I don't.
But I do use my own bags. I do remember them. I have been doing it for years - far longer than from the beginning of the "ban on plastic bags". I have quite a collection. Many of them have had other things in them before hand. Some of them have been advertising material. I have a bright red one which advertises the state newspaper - or rather it should but I have turned it inside out so it doesn't advertise anything. I have done the same with the black bag and the orange bag which have both, at varying times, advertised the local shopping centre. I have left the very sturdy one from the greengrocer as it is. I don't mind advertising that shop and the smiling banana on the outside is cheerful. I have green ones from the time the supermarkets went "green". I also have some nylon bags that fold up to almost nothing at all. I bought those in the local "cheap" shop. I can wash those. I use them for meat and for frozen items - before I put them in the lime green "cool bag".
I note though that there are still people who will pay for bags. I wonder how much it costs them each year?
For years our local supermarkets used very sturdy brown paper bags for the groceries. They were large and I occasionally used one and then recycled it. It was used as a "cat" bag. We had two cats at the time and they both loved wriggling into the bags and playing in them. One would often sleep in one. Other people told us their cats did the same thing.
It is my one regret about the bag ban. They just don't have those sleeping bags for cats any more.
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