I Just Can’t Get Enough

On the outer fringe of the charts in mid January of 1982 (it peaked at number 29) we have Depeche Mode I Just Can’t Get Enough.  Mainly what he can’t get enough of is saying “I can’t get enough” which must account for 80% of the lyrics in the song. My personal favourites from the lyric sheet are:

I just can’t get enough (x16)

(x16? They must have really slaved over these lyrics.)

and, 

Just like a rainbow you know you set me free

Sure.  The self-aware freedom-bringing rainbows.  I know them.

I know what a lot of people thought when they saw this kind of thing (click the picture to see the video),

They thought, “that’s not a proper band”.  Either that or, “how do I join gay pride bikers with synths?” 

I was in the later camp except I didn’t notice the gay thing because I was nine.  Actually, I didn’t notice this at all until I flicked through my old Smash Hits when I was in my twenties, but this is a whole other post.

Mainly we’re here to admire the hair and the fashion of the video, so let’s get on with it.

There is a pretty even contest here between the men and the women in this video.  It’s hard to decide who the fashion winners are because the women clearly win on their hair, but the dudes are really working the black leather thing.  Still, I think the hair wins.  I mean in this shot where is your eye drawn?  12 year old beanie boy, or 14 year old exploding hair?

You should know she’s wearing a leopard print top as well (easy, tiger).  And then there is this:

Which is magnificent.  Sort of a wave effect going on here, with the crest breaking over her face.  Her drink even has an umbrella up to protect it from the deluge.

But this is my favourite moment from the video.

“I’m sorry son, I’m going to need to see some ID.”

“Oh, I’m terrible sorry sir, but I don’t have any.  You can call my mummy and ask her though.”

“Fair enough.  Sorry to have bothered you.”

“Sweet!”

It is a long, long way from here to Personal Jesus.

The naked lunch

 

We had a very nice lunch at my mother’s house on the weekend.  We had some Fresh Up juice.  Since watching a documentary last year I always notice when there is a little cardboard box drink in the room.  I notice because they are very hard to recycle, but there are an awful lot of them,

Using plastic and aluminium-coated paperboard to package sterilised liquid contents such as pasteurised milk, soups and even wine, Tetra Pak packages can be found in just about every corner of the planet.

Last year alone, Tetra Pak produced 137 billion drinks cartons (4,344 packages each second), which amounts to roughly 92.5 million treetops destined to be ground into paper and pulp.

Tetra-Pak is making an effort to source its trees from sustainable sources. It’s also making an effort to find ways to separate all the different parts of these packages so they can be recycled.  Unfortunately they haven’t achieved this yet.  In 2008 16% of Tetra Paks 137 billion cartons were recycled.  In previous years this would have been 0%.  Which is hundreds of billions of juice boxes thrown into the Earth.

When I picked up the juice box however I noticed that Fresh Up were trying to suggest that I could dispose of their product by making it flat really easy, as if making it flat achieved something for the environment.

In New Zealand we’ve been tossing Fresh Up and Just Juice boxes in the Earth since 1981.

I decided to investigate further. 

I turns out that TetraPak (they’re Swedish) have actually being doing a lot of work on being greener, and have gone a long way to source sustainable forests, and develop processes that can recycle their products.  So far in New Zealand you can only really recycle Tetra Paks in Auckland, but I imagine it might not be too far away for Wellington.

Turning the box over I noticed this.

I have seen this “Made in New Zealand from local and imported ingredients” on many products.  It’s really a bit of a nonsense.  People who produce food and beverages do this because:

Does the label have to say the country of origin?

Country of origin labelling is voluntary in New Zealand and suppliers (usually manufacturers, transporters or sellers) may choose not to display these details. But they must have contact details for distributors or manufacturers in New Zealand, so you can ask about the food.

Ok, fine, finding out where the stuff I eat and drink actually comes from is up to me to find out.  I sent an email to Frucor (they make Fresh Up).  Where is the fruit from, and how are you getting along with the recycling thing?

Here is the what they said about fruit (turns out my new thing this year is emailing companies):

There was also this about TetraPak,

Loyalty to the brand is probably a bit strong, but I’ll pass on their thanks to my mother.

“They” are able to recycle juice boxes in Auckland, but I am not.

Three things occur to me out of this:

• The TetraPak story is pretty interesting, and I was glad to see how much effort they have put in to cleaning up their products.  Perhaps an email to the Wellington City Council is required to ask when we will get TetraPak recycling here
• Making juice is complicated.  TetraPak is a massive MASSIVE company and we probably get our ones made in Australia.  The fruit that goes into the TetraPak comes from all over.  Parts of New Zealand, but also all over the world.  These two facts alone make juice complicated, never mind all the other things that go in, and the packaging and the marketing and so on.  Juice seems like quite an intensive product.  All that shipping and importing of products from around the world seems like a lot of carbon for a refreshing drink.
• I think that emailing companies is a good thing to do if you are feeling lonely and need some friendly messages in your inbox.  Much cheaper that calling a sex hotline, or freephone astral readings, or the emergency services  for a chat.

Better send an email to the council.

Eleanor’s end of holiday report

Daddy and I have been busy over the last two weeks of the holiday.  He has been painting the house and I have been helping him.  Sometimes I help him by wobbling the ladder when he has been up it for too long, sometimes I help him by playing with the dirty brushes when he goes inside to go to the toilet.  The other day Daddy asked me if I could help him by locking myself in a cupboard, but I couldn’t see how this would help him so I kicked over a paint can instead.

One thing that is a bit irritating about painting is that you always have to wear a hat and sunblock.  I asked Daddy how you made sunblock the other day and he said he didn’t know (why do I even bother?).  It seems sort of obvious if you think about it a bit though.  I asked Daddy if a hat was like a roof for your head and he said yes, so I think that sun block must be some kind of cream and some kind of roof mixed together.

When Daddy isn’t painting he sometimes helps me develop my musical skills.  He drops some beats and I lay down the vocals.  After lunch one day I felt like busting out some raps and we jammed something called Libby.

Here are the words in case you want to sing-a-long.

Libby… come on let’s play together

It’s fun to play together

Libby is my bestest friend

No one knows that except me and Libby

Libby, Libby, let’s play together

Probably one day I will record this properly.  The vocal was alright, but I need a better keyboard player.

We had to take the car to the garage yesterday.  Daddy took my scooter so that I could ride it on the way back home.  I like scooting but sometimes my scooting leg gets tired.  Daddy asked me why I didn’t just change legs, and scoot with the other leg.  I had to explain to Daddy about how legs and arms have specific jobs.  My right leg is my scooting leg, my left leg is my pedalling leg, my left hand is for brushing teeth, and my right hand is for eating.  It’s important to have the jobs sorted out because otherwise you might try to brush your teeth with your right leg.  I could probably do this, but Daddy sounds like a rusty folding deck chair when he tries to copy my ballet stretches so I don’t think he could.

I had my haircut two days ago.  It looks nice.  At dinner I told Mummy that I could probably get a boyfriend now, and she seemed surprised.  I thought this was a bit rude.  She asked me what kind of boyfriend I would want.  I think an older boy would be better, maybe nine or ten.  The boys my own age seem quite silly.  They like making farting noises and shoving each other.  I can talk about poo for hours but I draw the line at farting noises.  Mummy agreed, but said I shouldn’t hope for too much when it came to boys in the future.  Daddy told me to finish my beans.

School starts again on Tuesday.  It will be nice to get back and have a break from keeping Daddy entertained all day everyday.  He is usually fine, but sometimes his behaviour is terrible: “I want to do this, I want to do that, I don’t want to play with you now, don’t talk in my ear when I’m on the telephone.”  Me, me, me.  Going back to school will be good for both of us.  I can see my friends, and he can be someone elses’ problem for a while.

A walk to the shop

My walk to the shop yesterday for a tin of cigarettes turned into quite a dispiriting affair.  Firstly, cigarettes don’t come in tins anymore. Secondly, all the brands I knew have disappeared, and finally they seem to all have the most grotesque pictures on them.  The one I eventually bought had a picture of some rotting toes on it.  What on earth are the cigarette companies playing at?  Have they gone insane?  Here’s how they advertised cigarettes in my day.

The other reason the trip to the shops put me out of sorts was the infernal motor car which appears now to be everywhere and travel at lethal speeds.  I can assure you that this was not always the case.

I only had one quiet lane to cross on my way to the shop but I felt I was taking my life in my hands.  It seems that in the battle between man and machine these infernal machines have been allowed to win, and even in a simple trip to the shops the humble gentleman on foot must be on his guard every time he steps off the curb.  I suppose that even in 1912 the warning signs were there of the impending madness of motor-cars.

I think we can all pine for the days when the desire for a plain tooter was all that we had to be concerned about as we crossed the road.

Wellington Anniversary Day

In 1912 Wellington was 72 years old if you were British.  If you were British you had a holiday, if you Maori you went to Picton (I jest, the Maori was actually a boat).

I don’t recall the day itself, but it sounds as though the weather was good, and Wellington in a picturesque mood.

Some went to Worser Bay for an outing.

172 years since the Aurora arrived in Wellington I can report that the sky is clear but the wind is up.  Man of Errors will take his family up to see his mother in Karori later.  I think I will venture out to the shop for a tin of cigarettes, and then retire to the front room with a book.