Opening junk mail can be a strangely satisfying experience I’m sure, particularly when it’s offering glimpses of a world one would normally barely dare to dream of.
Of course the promoters of Art Unions various are quite aware of my susceptibility to their unrelenting temptations and ply me often with vast quantities of opportunities to “Win”, whether it be the trip of a lifetime, the home of my dreams, or merely my choice of seven cars.
Clearly their technique of bombarding all and sundry with pretty brochures and reams of printed papers is financially viable, if not a little disturbing if you happen to be a tree.
There is one particular organisation which sends me an envelope every six weeks or so, jam packed with flyers and posters espousing the virtues of their particular prize choice of the month. The choice is always a house or apartment of substantial value, and I enjoy taking a few minutes to cast a professional eye over the intricacies of the design, before deciding that I couldn’t live with it and discard the entire contents.
It is always at the point of release that I realise that the impossible has been achieved. Each month someone manages to cram two and a half entire paper baskets full of waste into one small DL envelope. Each month I feel terrible about the cost and waste and carbon emissions and global warming and am prompted to pick up my keyboard and fire off my protestation to someone.
Anyone.
And each month in the process of ditching it all I get to the return envelope they so thoughtfully enclose, and feel the unpolished brown recycled paper and see the little frog logo and the thoughtfully printed “enviromail”, no doubt in carbon neutral organic ink, and I just know the world is safe.
Enviromail.
Ahhhh.
Thank goodness. Without that I'd start to believe it was all just waste.
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