The Bin

Am I an optimist or a pessimist? The glass is half full. The glass is half empty. Frankly, who cares? I am feeling curmudgeonly and the fact is that the next door neighbour’s bin is completely full and will the dustmen empty it? No, they won’t. No, nay, never. No nay never, no way.

You see, round our way, they won’t lift a dustbin up in the time honoured tradition of their predecessors. That might involve being strong and manly and physical, so they can’t do that. I appreciate they might hurt their backs, but did I force them to become binmen? I think not. And we haven’t got wheelie bins either that back up to the refuse truck and get lifted by the hydraulic mechanism because, well we just haven’t, okay.

What we have, my friends, is binbags. Black plastic refuse bags, if you will. Those are the only things our garbage disposal specialists will take away. If it’s not in a binbag, it ain’t going in the truck to be burnt or make landfill or whatever they do with it. If it’s not in a binbag, it’s going to sit outside your home festering. Forever. Mmmmm. Nice.

So, why hasn’t my neighbour put his/her rubbish out in binbags like any normal resident would? Well, she moved three weeks ago and her smart alice daughter simply filled the bin up to the top and left it out. Result: it is still there. However, those of you who read my intolerant outpourings yesterday will have picked up on the fact that I now have a new neighbour.

Hoorah!

Yes, he’ll sort out this festering bin problem. Or at least simply ask the council to remove it. Of course he will. Won’t he? Err, no. What he has done is simply move the bin on to my garden! Holy freaking cheek! Like it’s MY problem to deal with!?

What in God’s Holy Name is wrong with people. Yeah, yeah, so he’s going through a divorce and we should all be sad for him. Well, boo hoo hoo. I’m not sad. In fact, it looks like I’ve discovered the reason why his marriage fell apart and it’s only taken me five minutes. He is clearly a lazy good for nothing who shunts his problems on to other people and expects them to sort them out for him.

Needless to say, I’ve moved the bin back on to his drive.

You know, I’ve barely started about the neighbours. As well as witchypoo and binman, there’s the trailer trash down the block who thought it would be a good idea to have a nice car fire to get some income from an insurance claim one night… outside their house. No, never mind the risk that the petrol tank might have exploded. And the rest of the street turned out to watch the twenty foot high flames. Guess who called the fire brigade when he detected the whiff of burning car in the air? Muggins, that’s who. Me.

Then there’s the exceedingly large coloured lady who keeps stopping yours truly to tell me about Jesus and ask me along to the Salvation Army. Yip. And the pensioner who may well have been a sex bomb in her younger years and who still apparently thinks she is with her little winks and hip waggles. Oh, dear. Oh dear oh dear. And the guy who looks like an old pervert in his little red car. He could have stepped out of a Carry On film.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

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