http://www.theherald.co.uk/features/77739.html
<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=480 border=0><TBODY><TR><TD class=artByline>DAVID BELCHER</TD><TD class=artDate align=right>January 01 2007</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
We present you with a radical idea. Then you tell us whether it's a winner or a lost cause
My plea for an immediate end to Britain's number-one public health outrage, committed daily in Scotland by thousands, is best highlighted by reminding you of an infamous London journey - immortalised in verse - that was once undertaken by an elderly man from that Indian region known as the queen of the Himalayas.
For, as an unknown poet has written: "There was an old man from Darjeeling/Who got on a bus bound for Ealing/A sign on the door/Said 'Don't spit on the floor'/ So he carefully spat on the ceiling."
That ancient limerick might serve only to provoke a snigger, but the amount of spitting that blights every public arena - highways, by-ways and all forms of transport - is no joke. It could even kill you. Because it's a disgustingly sad fact of everyday life that you can expect expectoration at its most noxious wherever you go.
From bustling city centres to sedate suburban avenues; in country lanes and on railway station concourses: whichever public thoroughfares you traverse, it seems impossible to avoid those germ-dispensing enemies of the common good who proudly, loudly hawk up phlegm from the depths of their lungs and then ostentatiously spit the contagion out.
In 2006, Britain's streets are paved not with gold but with the disgusting silvery-green of the sidewalk oyster. Primarily practised with energy and expertise by the young, spitting has become a super-cool cross between mating ritual and declaration of self (I am foul and witless, therefore I spit). Heck, it's almost a national sport - and none of us should bet against some vote-grabbing quarter-wit of a politician proposing spitting as a Team GB freestyle speciality for London's 2012 Olympics.
It is no coincidence, health experts agree, that the deadly condition tuberculosis, primarily a disease of the lungs, is on the increase. TB has been on the rise since the 1980s, mostly in Africa where it is horribly paired with HIV/Aids, but also in Britain, a country from which it was almost eradicated by a major post-war health initiative. With a deadly global avian flu epidemic apparently lurking just round the corner, can you think of a better time for the lethal hail of spittle to be halted?
As winter draws deeper and chillier, it's certainly time, too, for a change of bronchio-nasal practice among public-transport passengers. For as anyone who travels by bus will be all too aware, winter is characterised by over-amplified mucoid misery and sickening supersonic snottering as folk with colds that run like rivers indulge in non-stop sniffing, hacking, retching, coughing and choking. And all because too many people are ignorant of a socially responsible art which sounds funny but is gravely serious: nose-blowing.
It is thus essential that we revive an apparently terminal victim of changing fashion. Supported by compulsory seminars on discreet nasal clearance and the overnight re-installation of signs on buses saying Do Not Spit Anywhere, we must bring back the handkerchief.
We should also revive a nationwide public health campaign featuring the health slogan to beat all health slogans: "Coughs and sneezes spread diseases - trap them in your handkerchief."
.
<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width=480 border=0><TBODY><TR><TD class=artByline>DAVID BELCHER</TD><TD class=artDate align=right>January 01 2007</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
We present you with a radical idea. Then you tell us whether it's a winner or a lost cause
My plea for an immediate end to Britain's number-one public health outrage, committed daily in Scotland by thousands, is best highlighted by reminding you of an infamous London journey - immortalised in verse - that was once undertaken by an elderly man from that Indian region known as the queen of the Himalayas.
For, as an unknown poet has written: "There was an old man from Darjeeling/Who got on a bus bound for Ealing/A sign on the door/Said 'Don't spit on the floor'/ So he carefully spat on the ceiling."
That ancient limerick might serve only to provoke a snigger, but the amount of spitting that blights every public arena - highways, by-ways and all forms of transport - is no joke. It could even kill you. Because it's a disgustingly sad fact of everyday life that you can expect expectoration at its most noxious wherever you go.
From bustling city centres to sedate suburban avenues; in country lanes and on railway station concourses: whichever public thoroughfares you traverse, it seems impossible to avoid those germ-dispensing enemies of the common good who proudly, loudly hawk up phlegm from the depths of their lungs and then ostentatiously spit the contagion out.
In 2006, Britain's streets are paved not with gold but with the disgusting silvery-green of the sidewalk oyster. Primarily practised with energy and expertise by the young, spitting has become a super-cool cross between mating ritual and declaration of self (I am foul and witless, therefore I spit). Heck, it's almost a national sport - and none of us should bet against some vote-grabbing quarter-wit of a politician proposing spitting as a Team GB freestyle speciality for London's 2012 Olympics.
It is no coincidence, health experts agree, that the deadly condition tuberculosis, primarily a disease of the lungs, is on the increase. TB has been on the rise since the 1980s, mostly in Africa where it is horribly paired with HIV/Aids, but also in Britain, a country from which it was almost eradicated by a major post-war health initiative. With a deadly global avian flu epidemic apparently lurking just round the corner, can you think of a better time for the lethal hail of spittle to be halted?
As winter draws deeper and chillier, it's certainly time, too, for a change of bronchio-nasal practice among public-transport passengers. For as anyone who travels by bus will be all too aware, winter is characterised by over-amplified mucoid misery and sickening supersonic snottering as folk with colds that run like rivers indulge in non-stop sniffing, hacking, retching, coughing and choking. And all because too many people are ignorant of a socially responsible art which sounds funny but is gravely serious: nose-blowing.
It is thus essential that we revive an apparently terminal victim of changing fashion. Supported by compulsory seminars on discreet nasal clearance and the overnight re-installation of signs on buses saying Do Not Spit Anywhere, we must bring back the handkerchief.
We should also revive a nationwide public health campaign featuring the health slogan to beat all health slogans: "Coughs and sneezes spread diseases - trap them in your handkerchief."
.
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