• Delphine Jamet

All Bottled Up in a Cordial Factory

Whirring like a rotor blade but not quite as heavy. Winds from the air con or the conveyor belt, forever like a windy day. The skylights shine endlessly, day or night, it's hard to tell. I breathe in deep and almost splutter into a coughing fit. Citric acid or some chemical component hangs heavy in the atmosphere, seeping out of the syrup room around the corner.


The udders kick into action, pushing out the pleasant liquid into the plastic 2 litre bottles. A slight machine gun sound can be heard as the caps slot into action, screwing onto the full bottles before air can penetrate its contents.

Juice and cordial is produced in the factory from concentrated syrup

They whirr past me like an army destined to rot our teeth and health, sugar contents so high, our ancestors would turn in their graves. Purity of natural foods slowly disappearing into extinction as economic growth reaps unimaginable wealth and greed. Money replacing morals and ethics that once supported honest and basic ingredients to fuel our healthy minds and bodies. Our society now full of cancer and diseases, a government that fakes concern and sincerity with their backs turned.


I grab a bottle off the line to test it for weight, torque and a range of other measurements to uphold the company's reputation. I pour a sample into a cup, thick syrup mixed with a bit of filtered water and bring it to my lips for a sip. Orange, banana and mango cordial. Mmm . . . it tastes so good.


I love my job. How can something this good, be so dangerous to my health?

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