Brian 'Grumpy’ Greening enters 2010 a perplexed and troubled man. It all started when he went to the dump (otherwise known as the civic amenity site) at Forest Road, Newport, to divest himself of two small cardboard boxes full of plasterboard off-cuts.
Not, on first inspection, the most onerous of tasks nor one fraught with any obvious hazards.
However, we forget how far the tentacles of health and safety legislation actually stretch. They are infiltrating every corner of British life and undermining what little remains of common sense.
When Brian arrived at the dump, an operative (to whom he attaches no blame) slid back the glass partition and inquired about the nature of his business.
Brian could see ahead a huge green container with remnants of plasterboard showing and indicated that it was his mission in life to add to this impressive collection.
The operative then informed the incredulous Mr Greening he would not allow him to enter the site until he had been provided with a hard hat and a fluorescent jacket.
Brian took receipt of said accoutrements and threw them on the back seat of his car.
The barrier was raised, Brian drove forward 15 feet and deposited his rubbish. He then returned the jacket and hard hat and everyone went away happy.
The entire manoeuvre — for which these preposterous health and safety precautions were deemed so important — took about 20 seconds.
A second trip to the dump a few days later did little to improve our hero’s mood (which is not particularly effervescent at the best of times).
On this occasion, however, the operative insisted Brian actually wear the jacket.
"What about the hard hat?" asked the grumpy one. "No need to bother with that," came the reply.
His Grouchiness was pleased because green doesn’t suit him — but he has some questions he wants answered.
He wrote: "When I went turned up at the dump, there were fewer people there than at a meeting of the County Hall branch of the Charlotte Hofton Fan Club.
"I’d like to know whether this charade is also played out during busy periods at the dump when there are half a dozen cars entering and leaving every minute — or is it just plasterboard that is considered so dangerous?"
We’d both like to hear from anyone else who has encountered similarly absurd health and safety measures on the Island.
You can e-mail me at editor@iwcp2.demon.co.uk
Newspapers take their revenge at last…
We all have our pet aversions. Mine include (in no particular order): beetroot, The Guardian, Lucozade, ties, Peter Mandelson, social networking sites, Vanessa Feltz and people who eat with their mouths open.
If I ever encountered Mandelson eating beetroot with his mouth open while reading The Guardian, the urge to place my hands around his throat and squeeze would be far too strong to resist.
But I had never, until recently, actually been physically allergic to anyone or anything, apart from a mild form of hayfever when I was a kid.
But a strange thing happened back in the summer. I was sitting in our front room when my eyes began to itch. They then started to water and something was irritating the tip of my nose.
It was clearly an allergic reaction, and I gazed suspiciously at the dogs. They stared insolently back, rolled over and went to sleep.
I interrogated Mrs N on whether she had recently changed the brand of carpet cleaner, upholstery spray or air freshener she favoured.
The enquiry was met with a semi-sympathetic scowl and a suggestion that, like millions of others in the country, I might suddenly have become allergic to pollen once again. But the reaction only happened when I was indoors — and especially in the front room. Cutting the grass was actually a blessed relief. So what was going on?
After a few more days scratching and sneezing, I finally realised what was causing me such great discomfort. It was the bloody County Press!
After more than 40 years working in newspapers — I had suddenly become allergic to the blasted things.
Every journalist will tell you one of the questions most frequently asked is: "Why do I always end up with dirty hands when reading my newspaper?"
I always used to reply: "I have no idea. What are you doing while reading your newspaper?"
But it’s no longer a joke. Either the ink or the newsprint is causing my allergic reaction — and it’s not just the CP. Virtually every national newspaper produces the same effect.
I have to read them from as far away as possible (I shall soon be resorting to a pair of binoculars) and turn the pages by holding the corners with my fingertips. Even with these precautions I still have to wash my hands and face immediately afterwards.
So the next time you see an elderly journalist scratching and snivelling, have a little pity…