Why there's bottled water…

As a child everything was put down to a change of water. It didn’t seem to matter much what it was – a headache, aching joints, a bad mood, it all came down to a change of water.

‘I feel sick.
‘It’ll be the change of water’.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘It’ll be the change of water’.
‘I’ve really hungry’
‘It’ll be the change of water’.
‘I have lost the use of all my limbs and my body has swollen to the size of an elephant.’
‘It’ll be the change of water’.

Back then though not only was the water constantly changing but THEY were always putting something in it.

Just who THEY were was never clearly defined and like the water THEY kept changing. At times it seemed to be The Russians (who were responsible for the changes in the weather as well), Scientists (who were going to blow us all up if the Russians didn’t do it first), and worst of all – The Council.

The Council were responsible for everything.

It was the Council’s fault that old Mrs. Hewitt’s son was caught exposing himself to teenage girls in the park, they should never have allowed it and where was the warden? Well, actually Mrs. Hewitt’s son Bozil was the warden, and the church verger, and the gravedigger, and the man to go to if you wanted your hawthorn hedges woven into the most wonderful living fences, and of course if you wanted yourself exposed to...

It was the council’s fault that the blackberry crop was getting poorer year on year, what with all the pesticides they were using and all those concrete fencing panels that they were putting up everywhere, ripping down the hedges and making the chances of one of Gran’s blackberry and apple pies very slim indeed.

It was the council’s fault that my dad reversed into a bloody wall and bloody dented the bloody back bumper of his bloody Morris Minor. If the bloody council had bloody filled that bloody pothole then it would bloody well never have bloody happened. How was he bloody well meant to bloody concentrate on missing the bloody pothole and bloody missing the bloody wall at the bloody same bloody time, the bloody Council shouldn’t bloody expect him to bloody multi-bloody-task! (I’ve paraphrased most of my Dad’s bloody swearing to make this bloody readable).

Yes, the council was always messing with the water and the net result was poorer blackberries, dented bumpers, and perverts whipping their willies out… well, maybe not, but they did agree to put fluoride in the water to stop our teeth rotting. And I for one wanted rotting teeth.

So what with the ‘change of’ water and the ‘somethings’ being put in it - water was a very scary thing when I was a kid.

So that’s why there's bottled water.