They say you can take the man out of industrial packaging, but you can't take industrial packaging out of the man. And let's face it, they're absolutely right, and I should know. It's been five years since I last wrote for the Bulletin, and in that time I've moved from a East London to Western Poland, written and edited umpteen stories about Polish business, visited numerous chocolate-box cities offset with communist breeze blocks, been misunderstood by as many people as I've misunderstood myself and sampled more beers and grilled sausages than I care to recall. But in all that time, one thing has remained constant. Wherever I've been there seems to have been at least one FIBC lurking somewhere, and I don't just mean outside a chemical plant or sitting in a warehouse. I've seen them on building sites, next to road works, on the backs of lorries, in gardens, on farms and even, as the photo shows, being blessed by an icon in a Polish churchyard.
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