It started with the odd beer can or cigarette packet dropped into the lidded bin meant for black-sack-only rubbish. Luckily I spotted and removed the offending items ahead of bin collection day, managed to fish them out, and relocated them to the red-and blue-lidded containers designated for glass, tin and plastic and paper and card respectively. No bother.
But the problem escalated. I’d nip out to deposit a knotted black sack only to find the relevant wheelie bin already rattling with bottles and cans, not mine, and in the wrong container. No way could I lean in to retrieve them without falling in. The only solution was to drag the bin onto the road, manoeuvre it onto its side and retrieve the contents with a broom.
On other occasions, I would arrange my rubbish as usual, according to rules strictly specified by our local council, head off for work or on holiday and return to find that my bins had not been emptied because offending items not deposited by me were lurking within. This caused the waste operators to decline to empty them.
Sometimes, but not always, a sticker or a paper label would be applied to the bin, explaining the reasons for the non-collection. The council weren’t bothered. Responsibility for overseeing and managing my refuse containers, they explained, fell to me.
Putting waste in somebody else’s bin is technically fly-tipping, they helpfully explained. Illegal, yes, and people have been fined for it. They have to catch them first, of course. How? An elaborate CCTV installation to nab dumpers of a few Fosters cans? Wheelie bin ties, padlocks and gravity locks can be useful, they suggested.
But how do such gadgets solve the problem when the householder is travelling, and has to unlock them for the binmen before departure? The minute the bins were unfastened, rogue bottle-droppers would return with glee. I live opposite a pub. You see the problem.
I sit here stirring my morning cuppa, reflecting along with everybody else on the existential threat of nuclear war between Russia and NATO and the escalating conflict between Israel and Iran – both of which, among many others, have catastrophic implications for the entire planet – and tell myself to get a grip.
A few misplaced items in my domestic bins seem a trivial annoyance compared to such potential devastation. Is it trivial, though? Isn’t the national bin issue a metaphor for the mess our race is in? Isn’t a carelessly tossed tin in another householder’s private space an invasive and disruptive act of contempt?
Isn’t the flouting of rules and laws on a front-garden scale symbolic of what’s happening on the world stage? Scoff all you like, but then think about it. Tending our patch. Minding our own. Taking care of pennies so that pounds look after themselves.
A thousand-mile journey kicking off with a single step. A big problem having once been a small one. For all their quirkiness and quaint sayings, Nana and Grandad had a point.