Plastic beach
SOMEWHERE, far out at sea, in the Pacific, between California and the islands of Hawaii, lies the Great Garbage Patch, or the Trash Vortex, as some call it. A vast area of plastic pollutants and sludge, over a quarter of a million square miles in size, approximately the size of Texas, bobbing with, and shaped by the tides and currents, a vast floating beach of pollution.
When broken up into tiny pieces, plastic attracts toxic chemicals released over decades from industry and agriculture, the concentration of which increases as they move up the food chain. Plankton eat the microbes, little fish eat the plankton, and big fish eat the little ones. It’s in the chain, has been, now, for years, and the oceans are turning into a soup. And into the pot we are dumping eight million tonnes of waste plastic a year!
Think of any section of coast you know after a high tide, or a river post-flood. Plastic, plastic everywhere. And it’s a new phenomena. At least relatively new, say the last 30 or 40 years perhaps, but the plastic yellow ducks are coming home now to roost, because reports are telling us of more of these islands, literally, popping up in all our oceans. They are seldom visible by satellite as we are most of the time dealing with high concentrations of plastic particles per cubic metre, invisible for the most part to the naked eye, but deadly just the same.
And now, exposures to these chemicals have been suggested to contribute to some cancers, and infertility, as well as immune, metabolic, cognitive and behavioural disorders. The entry of plastic pieces into our food chain is now one of the chief concerns to human health.
So, what are we to do? How do we kick-start the vast clean up required? Who is going to accept responsibility? We need two things to happen. Firstly we need to hope that in time, nature can break down the waste and safely disperse the by-products, a big ask, but secondly we need to STOP. One is no good without the other. We, as humankind, have put the handbrake on before, we have witnessed our errors and sought to correct our mistakes or at least stop repeating them. That thing we one time did, we do no more. Only the parents, and then the grandparents will remember.
But what has this got to do with ‘The Written Word’ you may justifiably ask? This week, the European Commission announced their intended ban on single use plastic items across the European Union. With 10 items alone contributing to 70% of our pollution, they have to go, become but a memory and a thing of the past. And top of the list? Public enemy Numero Uno? That inoffensive looking blue and white assassin, the colour of a summer sky but lethal given half a chance, yes, The Cotton Bud! They are soon to go, to be no more. Get one, save it, store it away for future generations, a shrine to spotless ears and Lord know’s what else. A soon-to-be collector’s item!
ODE TO THE COTTON BUD
Who can explain the near exotic bliss between the cotton bud and she, reaching those places nothing else can reach, not little finger biro tip or tongue? Such a gentle touch in those hard to reach spots, making all the right squish sounds that only they both can hear together, alone now, forever
And time slows down, makes her tilt her head how her lips part! The upright toothbrush, the roll-on deodorant and those bursting tubes a chorus of frustrated bathroom jealousy O cotton bud, you double headed devil, simple instrument of ear cleaning pleasure! After one session she turns you over and you both go at it again.
Straight and pure, gentle and true, clean white tops on a solid shaft of blue.