HANDS up if you've ever bought a gift-bag for a bottle of wine. Thought not. Me neither. So where have they all come from? There are currently six – six! – lurking in the spare wardrobe where we store presents and gift-wrapping. I'm beginning to think that, like wire clothes-hangers, they can breed in the dark, writes Mary Muvihill
How else to explain their existence? I have never bought one, and I am forever giving them away (complete with bottle of wine). Yet there are always six more in the cupboard.
Perhaps they were seeded there by aliens? Or maybe they are the larval form of something much bigger? Or have a sophisticated population control mechanism that ensures there are always six of them? The only realistic conclusion is that they are constantly on the move, from our spare wardrobe to yours. Which, by my reckoning, makes them the most recycled thing in the country. And because they are in use for only a short while each time, and treated with the respect due a nice bottle of wine, they can probably live forever. (Though as they are a phenomenon of recent years, I wonder if they will be able to tolerate the chillier climate of recessionary Ireland.)
But here’s a thought: if I mark and date the next gift-bags I release, I could discover how long it takes for one of them to come back to me. I don’t suppose Repak would like to sponsor the research, or the requisite bottles of wine? (Preferably French, or at least European — closer to home and with fewer booze miles than something shipped from the southern hemisphere — and organic, if you can.)
Recycling has been on my mind for the past few years, as I compiled a guidebook to sustainable living. (Thanks for asking. Yes, it’s called: Drive like a Woman, Shop like a Man – in short, 101 ways to save money and time and some of the planet’s scarce resources – and it will be published later this month by New Island.) Now, there is nothing like researching a book on sustainability to make one keenly aware of product design and durability. So I was surprised to realise that these glossy, useless objects have one excellent design feature: the gift tag is on the handle, and is not an integral part of the bag.
If one of us writes a message on the tag, the next person in the recycling chain can simply remove the tag, and we are as good as new again – apart from the fact that we have succumbed to “gift-wrap inflation”, and are making use of an expensive piece of paper to convey something already adequately encased in glass. Oh, for the days when you could respectably present a bottle in tissue paper, or even naked.
A quick survey of our current crop reveals that about half the bags have been around long enough already to have lost their tag. In this respect they have plenty of company in our cupboard: most of our gift-wrapping, boxes, ribbons and bows have already been around the block at least once, all the tags are cut from old cards and notelets, and the only time we heat an iron in our household is to smooth the creases out of used wrapping paper. (No, it’s not penny-pinching, it’s eco-nomical!) There is, mind you, nothing pleasant about the smell of burning sticky tape, and it also makes a mess of the iron.
So, here’s a tip: fix your wrapping paper with ribbons or raffia, twine or even wool, instead of sticky tape. The presents will look prettier, and you’ll make it much easier for me to recycle the paper. And, by revising how to tie knots and bows, you’ll also have acquired a useful life skill. As the scouts would say, “Be prepared”.
While we’re on useless things, what’s with “boil in the bag” couscous? For those who haven’t tried couscous yet, it’s a wonderful convenience food – little diced bits of pasta that need no cooking, just five minutes soaking in an equal volume of hot water. Then you add seasonings and flavourings as required – a glug of garlic and chili oil, a generous pinch of ground cumin and cinnamon, or whatever takes your fancy.
But that’s not enough for some people. And the only plain couscous available in our local Tesco supermarket is “boil in the bag” couscous – each double portion is in its own individual plastic bag, and it has to be boiled for a couple of minutes.
Clearly, a contender for the inconvenience food of the year award.
Speaking of awards, have you heard about the new Landfill Prize? This was launched recently by John Naish, author of a new book on “enoughness”, and the judges are looking for the “most pointless, frivolous, over-complicated and wasteful consumer objects”.
I’m thinking of nominating the gift-bags for wine and BITB couscous. But competition is stiff, what with plug-in air fresheners and digital electronic skipping ropes that, thanks to batteries in the handles, will count your skips for you.
Perhaps I should simply be grateful that no one has yet given me a digital electronic wine gift-bag that plays Happy Birthday every time I open it.