Plastic

We live in a throwaway age, and are surrounded by plastic and, more to the point, plastic packaging. Of course, now we are required to recycle rather than simply throw away without thought, and here we have a red bin for plastics and metals, a blue one for paper, and a green one for glass. Plus we have some instructions as to what should or should not go into each bin.

It's the plastic one that is the most problematic. Plastic wrapping is fine, as long as it doesn't make a crinkling sound when crumpled. The problem is defining the sound . . . though we are helped by the assurance from on high that plastic used to wrap papers and magazines that arrive through the mail is OK for recycling. As to the pots and cartons, whether it can be recycled or not is determined (here, anyway) not by whether it bears the recycling mark but on what number it bears inside that mark. Some are OK, some are not. Yoghurt pots, I find, all look much the same but can in fact be made out of a number of different kinds of plastic, some recyclable, some not; much the same, I think, for margarine tubs.

My instinct is to put them all into the recycling bin, and let the council, or whoever they contract to do the work, organise the sorting out of things. But no doubt there is a hefty fine or some other punishment in store for those who contravene the rules. One obvious question in my mind is - if some yoghurt pots are easily recyclable, why aren't all yoghurts supplied in these pots? And what is being done to require, or at least encourage, manufacturers and retailers to do this?

The other obvious question has to do with why we need quite so much packaging in the first place. Packaging rage is becoming a feature of modern society, I learn, particularly among the more senior age-groups. Having struggled ineffectively to penetrate the various layers of plastic, some of which produces sharp jagged edges when split, and causes injury, the item bought gets either accidentally broken in the course of breaking through the packaging, or else deliberately smashed against the wall in a fit of sheer rage. Yes, all right, I admit it, I've been there, done that.

Well, that's enough rant for now on this subject, but it's sure to be one that returns . . . gets recycled, even.