and there’s BLISTAAAAS~!


I’ll admit it, I have a soft spot for living in this day and age. I won’t go into all the hackneyed details of television (big screen, 3D, blu-ray …) and high speed internet with instant communication all over the globe, lasers, or GPS that can pinpoint my location to within milli-bits.

What gets through to me though is the assault on my well being by people I have never met and never shall—I refer to the nice folks in la-la land who came up with the blister pack. No matter what it is if it’s smaller than a Volkswagen it’s blister packed.

Face it, blister packs are nice. Looking.

Blister packs are ergonomically sound, pleasing to the eye and you just know that your goody within will not have been masticated by mice, chewed by chaffinches, flooded, burnt by sulphuric acid or burgled by postal workers. Hell, they are so well constructed that not even the tax man can find room to insert his greedy grasping claws:  and here’s the rub: neither can I.

I can face almost any challenge with an upright head, song on my lips, set jaw and twinkle in my eye. Death itself doesn’t fear me and in the street strong ladies step aside from my steely gaze. I am monarch of all I survey—except for blister packs.

I cannot get into a blister-packaged anything. Especially anything that is delicate, fragile (that’s a posher way of saying delicate), or likely to break under reasonable duress … that’s never gonna happen: to get into a blisterpak I have to invoke entirely unreasonable duress.

If I’m lucky The Spouse will sense my anguish and beat me to the hammer, shears, axe (chainsaw, once) and lead me gently away to blubber in a corner somewhere—

Aprés moi le deluge …

Until after fortification with a few coffees generously laced with rum I sally forth once more to do battle.


Is there some arcane art to opening blister packages—some occult secret, an esoteric initiation required before one can graduate to simply waving the magic digit causing plastics and cards to fly off in all directions with mad rapturous abandonment?

I DREAM of the day some charitable citizen crosses my path and takes pity on me, some genius in possession of The Knowledge who will take me under his/her/its wing and gently show me how. I wish.

Until then it’s back to opening this #&%*# blister-pak …




One thought on “THERE’S BLISTERS

  1. Why does a simple pair of pliers have to be packaged to survive Ragnarok? But I managed to get it open in the end (a pity about the gouges in our table top, but that’s progress for you) …

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