Chinese medicine

An unscheduled visit to the local minor injuries unit, having thoughtlessly introduced a sharp 4-inch nail to the soft palm of my hand at some velocity. A form of handshake that I could well have done without.

While sitting in the treatment room, wondering how much it was going to hurt, my eyes roamed to the multiple packs of dressings, bandages and slings stacked on the shelves. What caught my attention was the universal endorsement on the packaging: "Made in China".

What isn't made in China now, and air-freighted or transported by sea thousands of miles across the globe?

It's all about economics and cheap labour and production costs, of course. But do the sums still add up if the true environmental impact of such global trading is factored in?

Loadsa car

Leaving later than usual for work, I couldn't at first work out why I was met with a constant stream of enormous 4x4 vehicles coming the other way. I wondered if it was some sort of rally. Then I noticed that the occupants all appeared the same : a confident-looking if rather indifferently bored driver and teenaged passengers all dressed alike in the uniform of the expensive local private school.

The twin bogies of Chelsea tractors making their profligate contribution to environmental damage and public school elitism.

The screen will see you now

A visit to my GP's surgery, where I unexpectedly found myself face-to-face with a computer screen, rather than a human being, at the reception area. A notice explained that it is the new way to book in. Make a series of choices on the touch screen, confirm your identity and then take a seat, please.

I meekly did as instructed, and experienced a strange sense of disconnection, sitting in the waiting room while others also silently arrived via the computer terminal. What was distinctly missing was the usual friendly buzz of conversation and introductions at the reception desk.

Not for the first time with regard to technological advances I wondered who exactly was benefitting. I came down firmly on the side of it being surgery staff, plus the bonus for those hard-up GPs of reduced reception staff costs. I might be wrong, but I can't imagine that many patients prefer communicating with a bland screen rather than the friendly face of a real human being.

Milk + manual

It took a modest carton of milk to highlight how much product information we are now bombarded with.

Not that long ago, most people had their milk delivered to the doorstep by electric milk-floats using reusable glass bottles - and all very environmentally-friendly, too. I can't remember in detail but am pretty sure that the information on the bottle was limited to the name of the dairy, the type of milk and quantity, and probably some slogan such as "please rinse and return".

Today, I was suddenly struck by the welter of information on the modern plastic milk container. There was a label going round three sides, with all sorts of facts, warnings and advice which, frankly, was of very marginal interest but seemingly essential to provide in the eyes of the company marketing department. I counted a total of 210 words (longer than this post) and 52 separate numbers, plus numerous symbols and the ubiquitous bar code.

Do we really need to be advised on the side of a milk container to consult a freezer manual for advice on freezing? Or that it is best to store milk upright after opening? Just who is this patronising piffle aimed at, I wonder?

The Polish plumber

In a small market town in the south west of England, an unusual shop has opened. Called the Polish Cottage, it sells bread and other produce from Poland and appears aimed not at the indigenous population (grateful though they may be of an alternative to the likes of Tesco), but at migrant workers employed in local industries and farming.

It seems to be part shop, part focal point for Polish people to meet and help each other. One of the clues is the abundance of notices posted in the window, some in Polish, advertising house sharing, English language classes and services. It must be so comforting to buy Polish food in a strange country, and also to hear a friendly voice in a familiar tongue.

Firm evidence of the UK’s changing demography, even in the sleepy south-west. We are used to cities being richly multi-cultural; but this is now a growing feature of many rural areas.

One of the adverts particularly stood out. It simply said: “Polish Plumber”, and then the contact number. Positive trading, no doubt, on what has now become shorthand for good and hard workmanship, reliability and - perhaps most significant for parsimonious Brits - cheapness.

Wasted and wasting

Drugs are such fun, aren't they?

The heroin addict I interviewed today was not yet 30, but looked middle-aged. He was a pleasant young man with good parents who still support him, and a happy childhood background. At 16 he experienced the euphoria of his first heroin rush at a party. He then went into the Army, but quickly became disillusioned and left to return home. With no structure or sense of where he was going, he revisited the magic H, and his life has been a slave to the drug ever since.

His arms were a mosaic of abscesses, needle scars and open sores. He rolled up his trousers to show me the same on his legs. His hands had swelled to the size of small bunches of bananas as, with his veins now collapsed, he had taken to trying to find injection sites in his fingers.

This is the reality of entrenched drugs addiction. He is using £40 a day of street heroin on a legal income of £50 a week State benefits. The rest comes from crime. Where else - unless he sets himself up as a dealer?

Illegal drugs have a massive impact on individuals, families and society in terms of crime and social problems. Prohibition is simply not working. There are no simple answers, but surely the time is right for a bigger debate, including exploring the option of heroin on prescription?