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The Girl

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There has of late been in these parts (as in many other places in the world) much to-do regarding the evils of non-biodegradable plastics. One area of particular concern has been their use for plastic drinking straws. Apparently Americans (which we are not – but who will do for the purposes of illustration) ‘consume’ more than five hundred million plastic straws every day, many of which end up (one way or another) in the oceans – the resultant micro-plastic fragments being ultimately ingested by seabirds, turtles and other marine life-forms.

This is – needless to say – not good!

Now – I myself very rarely ever use such (or indeed any) straws (the occasional paper parasol being an entirely different matter!) but the Kickass Canada Girl does – and she is naturally concerned. Although she fully understands that many purveyors of smoothies, soft drinks and other liquid comestibles are no longer willing to supply a plastic contrivance by which means these delights may be inhaled, she is a little taken aback that the vendors sometimes fail to provide a suitable waxed paper alternative instead.

Accepting that neither option is ideal, however, The Girl set about identifying a more permanent solution. These days – it seems – such can be found by recourse to the newly popular stainless steel drinking straw.

Since The Girl’s requirement is that such an implement be portative – and would indeed be carried around continually – it must needs come supplied with a suitable carrying case. This would ensure that – when thrust into the depths of a lady’s reticule – the item would not become sullied by any detritus that had collected therein. As a gentlemen I merely take the lady’s word that such eventualities do occur!

After some study on the InterWebNet (of course!) a suitable item was identified  – supplied by a local Canadian company entitled ‘CurrentStraw‘. Just how local I was shortly to discover.

The Girl has a not insignificant birthday approaching and dropped hints that she would like one (or two) of these gizmos to form a part of her gift package. I duly went online in the late afternoon a couple of days back and placed an order.

Imagine my surprise when – upon taking out the garbage later that same evening – I found a package containing the recently ordered straws resting on our doorstep. It had clearly been hand-delivered, presumably from somewhere very close by.

Now – that’s what I call service!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidOne of the means by which the Kickass Canada Girl routinely earns her sobriquet is her habit of achieving virtually all of that to which she puts her mind. This is a wholly admirable trait and one for which I am eternally grateful. There are as a consequence, naturally, occasions on which she has set her mind on something and it is best simply to step back and to bow to the inevitable (taking great care that if one attempts to step back and to bow simultaneously one does not fall upon one’s arse!).

A case in point concerns the humble (or not so humble in some cases) bicycle…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWhen The Girl transplanted her life to the UK – all those many years ago – she brought with her a bicycle. On occasion she would tax me on the subject of acquiring a similar means of conveyance myself – that we might go out riding together. My resistance to the suggestion – on the grounds that the rural roads in the proximity of our residence were both too narrow and over populated with testosterone charged motorists – was expressed with considerable vigour and she decided to let the thing rest… for the time being.

When we crossed the ocean in the opposite direction in 2015 the bicycle did not make the journey with us. It was ‘accidentally’ left behind! I doubt we could have fitted it into the container in any case.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe had not long arrived on these shores, however, when – hankering to feel the wind in her hair (whilst also getting some welcome exercise) – The Girl decided that it was time to resurrected her former campaign. Given the wide open spaces, the broad roads and the abundance of clear air into which the testosterone can dissipate she was this time considerably more certain of getting her way. A small unexpected windfall furnished her the opportunity to declare that a trip to the bike shop was in order – with the inevitable result that we are now both the proud possessors of shiny new machines.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidGiven that the last bicycle that I owned (in fact, the only bicycle that I ever owned) was a gift for passing the Eleven Plus exam (at the tender age of – well – eleven!) the reader will not be surprised to hear that things in the bike world have changed in the interim. Changed, indeed, beyond all measure! There is nothing particularly fancy about these machines. They really are pretty middle of the road (though the bike lane would be more appropriate… ho, ho!) but the twenty four gears on this bog standard bike (sixteen of which I have yet to investigate) make my old Sturmey Archer three-speed look positively prehistoric… which, of course, it was…

I do hope that the photographs that accompany this piece do not appear overly fetishistic! Boys and technology and all that…

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