Wheelie Bins

Mr and Mrs Retired Opposite pay someone to clean their recycling wheelie bin. That is, the green bin. The one that says "no hot ashes" like the council think we don't realise that plastic melts or that fires burn people.

Bemusing though it seems this recycling bin is not the bin that, in fact, say "Waste for Recycling". That bin, black in colour, is actually for landfill. Like the council are making it hard on purpose. Looking for ways to jump up from behind hedgerows and lecture people on waste management.

The recycling bin is for garden waste, "thin" cardboard (the cardboard equivalent of Topshop if you will) and leaky, moist, rancid biodegradable bags for compostibles. Ibles? Ables? Who cares.

Anyway, Mr and Mrs Retired Opposite pay the imaginatively named "Wheelie Bin Cleaning Company" to come and, well, clean their wheelie bin. I watched them do it. Two uncomfortable looking teenagers with a squirty wheelie bin wash and mobile hosepipe van moved, opened, sprayed, hosed and closed the bin leaving without so much as an "eww, this is well gross". Mr and Mrs Retired Opposite obviously have enough disposable income to keep even their waste disposal system squeaky clean. They are just that type. I am not judging them, merely observing. They hang their hosepipe neatly, water their hanging baskets regularly and have the cleanest wheelie bin in the cul-de-sac.

I can't say that I know the bin habits of the other residents in our collection of miniature executive homes, as geography prevents me from observing them. However, like Mr and Mrs RO I have little private names for them all and feel that we could be perfectly personified in a Lloyds TSB or British Gas advert. Although I am not convinced that our bin is nearly clean enough...