When I was a child, one of the jobs I loved doing was painting things with creosote.
We used to have a lot of wooden things in the garden that needed treatment such as a couple of sheds, a garden bench and a few other bits and bobs. I loved the smell of creosote. It was somehow a very clean smell. The best thing about painting on creosote was the philosophy of the more the merrier. I used to just slosh it on and as a result it got everywhere.
I have installed some new woodwork in the garden. It was a messy job and I don’t want to be doing it too often, so here was a job for the old creosote. A good soaking in the black stuff will keep the wood going for a few years.
I went into town to the hardware store. It’s one of those gigantic help-yourself supermarket type places. In other words, a fucking nightmare. Even worse, there is never a staff member around who has a clue about what I am looking for. I traipsed up and down the isles looking for creosote. Then I traipsed left and right. Eventually I found some stuff in a large can that was called something like Creo-Coat. I was rightly pissed off with the place at this stage so I grabbed a can and went home.
I opened the can, and to all intents and purposes, it is creosote all right, but why the fucking name? Then it hit me – brand something and you can whack a good 20% onto the price. That still didn’t explain why the shop didn’t stock plain ordinary creosote though.
This morning, I was messing around on the Interweb and I looked up ‘creosote’. What I saw explained everything….
That fucking EU is poking its nose into my affairs again. Someone in his infinite wisdom has decided that I am incapable of using the stuff properly. Apparently there is something carcinogenic about it and we all know that we are not trusted to use anything that may, but won’t, harm us in some far distant future. Apparently it is still on sale, but only to ‘professionals’. The common man in the street cannot be trusted as he will probably drink the stuff by accident.
Is there any small corner of life left where we are treated like sensible adults? Is there any facet of living that hasn’t got a raft of Nanny Regulations attached?
It would nearly drive me to drink creosote.