Sometimes, folders are the best things in the world.

Because of melting polar bears, and the risk of extinction of the ice cap - the Government, amongst other pressing requirements want us to reduce our carbon footprint. And how can we best do that? Well, when we go shopping we can turn into one of those irritating women - you may never have seen one. You may have read letters in your local newspaper from one. Or you might simply be one.




The intent of these irritating women is to go around the supermarket, picking up the most packaged items in the stores - you know, the strawberrys that are individually wrapped, then in a box, inside a bag, with a cardboard wrapper on it and put into another bag with a seal-killing sticker placed carefully on the top to finish it all off.

And what do they do once they've filled their needlessly wasteful petrol-powered, engine-assisted, plastic-coated energy-intensive steel trolly around on its energy-intensive rubber tyres that kill small children who live alone in the amazon with McDonald's cows?

They allow the electronic cashier, who herself that very morning ran over 3 pigeons and 1 goose on her way to work, to use an electric till which is not powered by farting of local councillors, but instead powered by the energy produced by men who shoot harmless little rats using destructive horrible dirty coal to add up the excessive cost of all that packaging that happens to have some horrible food inside. Then they pay, using ACTUAL money (which may or may not be produced by printing on the skins of chickens killed by polution from mobility scooters, I don't know) and then proceed to "return" all of that unnnesecary packaging, placing the items into brown paper bags they've brought from their own home, which runs only on power produced from their own urine and is heated using moth-breath, and take them home.

What they've actually done, though, is mess up what was a perfectly nice shop which was doing a perfectly good job of destroying the world's resources. It wasn't hurting them - really - but they felt the need.

And what is the government doing to stop us all from this excessive use of plastic? Well, they've said ... "Would you mind reducing your plastic usage, mr shop man?"

And Mr Shop Man has said ... "Ok, I'll hide them. They'll have to ask for them."

And now, being British and highly unlikely to ask for anything that isn't offered to us - only half of us are actually asking for bags. And the other half are being pressured into it by their wives.

I'm feeling ill. And you have to remember when I say that, I'm talking from a male point of view. That means I do not have a mildly runny nose, a sore throat and a general feeling of brain-fuck, but I actually have a quantity of runny snot not less than equal to or greater than the current quantity of water stored in Lake Volta in Ghana dripping from my nose on a 24 hour rota, a small African tribe of warriers bashing their way into my oesophagus and setting fire to goats they have sacrificed in threats to their debtors (or as the rest of us know them, Barclays Bank) and a slight case of dementia which needs urgent treatment from the world's best doctors.

And when I feel ill, like any other male, I become slightly horrible, and completely unhuman - hating everything that comes into sight. I also become synical. Which if you think about it is just me normal. So hi - that was the least important intro ever. #

My topic today? Truth serum.

No, I haven't become a terrorist intent on destroying the evil world of Bush. Nor have I got a wife who I believe is lying to me. And nor, strangely, do I require larger breasts - no, instead I have been reading the BBC News website. More specifically, I have been reading the BBC News Magazine site.

A very good place to read - it's full of the type of journalism you'd expect not to quite make it anywhere, be read only by mothers and the unemployed (so most of the country by the time I finish this) and people who are desperate for entertainment as they sit at home, ill, with a small African tribe trying to light a fire in an area filled with water, moaning on an Internet blog.

This particular article did tell me something I felt interesting.

People who tell the truth are lazy.

Read the article yourself, and tell me you don't disagree.

Now excuse me while I go and get married, give birth to a child and then spend the millions I earn.

See, I'm not lazy.