Visitors

Our friend, M, was on the phone in tears the other night. She is genuinely one of the unluckiest people I have ever met. To cut a long story short, she was suddenly homeless. Panic had set in: she’d have to sell her new business and go back north to live with her mum.

‘Don’t do that!’ we told her. ‘Come and stay with us for a couple of weeks until you can get things sorted out.’

And so that’s how we came to have her and her three year old little boy, K, staying with us. A bit of a shock to the system, and in more ways than one. For starters, K is 25% cute, 75% whirlwind. But the other side of the story is that M, like most of our friends, has no idea of my plastic obsession.

I admit it right now, it’s a bit mean of me, and if she ever reads this blog I hope she’ll forgive me, but when she went out the other day, I made a little list of all the stuff that’s appeared in our kitchen and bathroom that I no longer buy. Actually, it was quite a long list. Which made me feel really good about myself. Maybe I’m doing better with this no plastic deal than I thought I was.

I won’t list everything I found - that would be far from fair to M. But in the meantime, I’m planning on making the most of consuming all these hitherto forbidden foods that have appeared in their plastic trays and wrappings in my little kitchen: strawberries, grapes, croissants, scotch pancakes, and meringues. Mmmm.