The gas people have effectively blocked off the path along the back of our row of houses.
Which is fine, as it’s not really used much.
Except when we need to put the bin out.
We keep our bins in the back garden. It’s not ideal but keeping them there is preferable to looking out of the front window and gazing upon the refuse eyesores.
What it did mean, though, is that I had to carry a wheelie bin – packed with two week’s worth of rubbish – through the house. Without touching anything, barely putting it down or taking long enough for any neighbours to realise what I was doing.
I’m glad we recycle.
Because everything in the bin was stuff that couldn’t go into another garbage-centered receptical. It was all throwable stuff. But crickey it was heavy.
Carole told me off for moving it myself, insisting that she would have helped with her string arms.
But then it becomes the thing of how you carry it. The bins live outside. Slugs, snails and spiders use the bin’s structure as a home. There’s nothing more lovely than going to move the bin and putting your hand into the inner workings of a slug, or into the stickiest spider’s web known to man.
Basically I ended up clearing a path, opening front and back doors, grabbing the bin, and more-or-less (mainly less) running through the house with it off the ground at all times.
And then just throwing it into the front garden.
I could bring it back, now it’s been emptied but, I fear, I’d be in the same position in a fortnight given that the gas men have not materialised at all today…