The other day I opened my front door (actually, my door. It's on the side and it's the only one I have but "front door" sounds so much more proper) to be greeted by the sight of a discarded child's pushbike laying by my fine collection of bins. Its chain was rusty and had come off the sprocket, nevertheless, it was gone when I got back from my walk into town. The other morning I heard a clunk and when I went to put some rubbish in the bin there was a large plastic tub in it, the kind you get muffins and chocolate chip cookies in from Morrisons. I can't afford such fine fare, it was not mine. When I went to put my bin out last night there was a white bin bag in it, full of rubbish. Again, not mine. This morning I lifted the lid only to find my bin was now full to the brim because someone had very kindly put a large black bin bag in it overnight.
You may well ask why I'm complaining (Vicus, you don't have to actually ask). I do my level best to minimise my rubbish. I live on my own now and in two weeks I'll be going some to get my bin even halfway full. When I get the garden sorted, I'll have a composter out there as well (in fact, I've got my eye on next door's one which seems to be doing nothing stood out on the drive empty) and that will cut it down even more. I try and cut down on packaging and recycle when I can. I don't want the waste re-allocation operative or whatever they're called nowadays thinking I'm a lazy arse who can't be bothered. Moreover, if you have the full set of normal recycling bins you're liable to end up with a criminal record if some sharp-eyed jobsworth spots a plastic bottle or a copy of the Independent in your household waste.
Yes, that last point. I have narrowly avoided getting my name in the local paper for having the wrong kind of rubbish. The first person to take advantage of my empty bins last week decided to dump his stash of gentleman's leisure periodicals in the black bin. Tut-tut. they go in the green one. And if you're going to dump soft pr0n in my bin, at least make it classier than some of Dirty Dickie Desmond's behind the bike-sheds newspaper spin-offs full of blurry frames nicked from straight to landfill C movies and non-subscription interweb sites. I ask you.