As supermarkets and retailers around the country implement a ban on plastic bags, I've decided to take on my own plastic challenge: to do away with the stuff altogether.

Bolstered by a friend's zero-waste mission as a single mum with a 3-year-old - which she took on back when the rest of us were still double-bagging our groceries and had never heard of a Keep Cup - surely child-free-me cutting out plastic wouldn't take much?

But after just one day, it looks like it's not going to be as simple as remembering my reusable shopping bag and saying no to the plastic knife handed to me with my morning scone - which I carry upstairs and use instead of taking a piece of cutlery from the kitchen draw a mere 10 metres away. Yep, I've only just realised how moronic this is.


Plastic bags binned: What it means

As I finished my scone and started thinking about what I'd make for dinner that night (where do you buy tortillas that don't come in plastic?) it dawned on me that I'm going to have to reconsider every product I'm bringing into my house - how can you buy toilet paper sans plastic? Is there somewhere to buy dishwashing liquid that doesn't come in plastic? It turns out there is: ecostore has a bunch of refillery stations around town.

So I'm looking at a separate trip for cleaning products, and I'll hazard a guess they'll cost more than a $3.50 bottle of Ajax.

There'll also be no more popping in to the well-priced butcher up the road for a bargain strip of eye fillet: everything they sell is vacuum packed in thick plastic. If I want to buy meat, I'll have to take my own container somewhere that will accept it.

I'll also have to boycott the cheap fruit and vegetable shop next door with its plastic-bagged $3 deals on produce. Meanwhile, 1kg of rice at a refillery compared to a plastic-bagged version at the supermarket is twice the price. It was quickly becoming clear I'd have to eschew thrift to stick to this challenge.

Later that night I fried up my first attempt at a home made tortilla. It wasn't great: thick, chewy and more like the Indian flat bread, puri. And I couldn't disguise it with a sprinkle of feta or a glug of Sriracha. Both come in plastic.

But despite my best efforts, I'd already failed. The yoghurt I added to the gaucamole came from a cardboard carton which, as my boyfriend kindly pointed out, is lined with plastic.

• Check in with how I'm tracking in the July 15 issue of Be Well, in the Herald every Monday.