I bashed my right big toe on the leg of the lounge, last night. It was a rather vicious bash. I thought the worst thing was the spilled red wine but, no, this morning, when I stepped out of bed, the stepping wasn’t easy. While not swollen, my toe was suspiciously red.
Still, after a short while test-walking around the house, it felt good enough to go to the shops, though I was cursing myself for not buying the things I needed when I popped into Waitrose on Saturday.
I set off.
And I’m glad I did because it meant I could fit the final piece of the puzzle into how they collect the rubbish here, in Lymington.
They don’t seem to utilize Otto bins, though I have seen some outside houses. Instead, the houses have either normal, old school single plastic dustbins or just plastic bags. The council insists that households use two plastic bags. One is black (for normal waste) and the other is clear (for recycling). They are tied off and placed in the bin outside on a Sunday night.
Operatives then come along and take the bags out of the bins and place them in piles in the street. A little while later, the compactus arrives and the driver darts around like a demented bee, collecting the black bags and tossing them into the back of the truck. Later still, a second compactus comes round to collect the recycling.
Interestingly, Lymington doesn’t have as much recycling capabilities as, say, Farnham. Also unlike Farnham, the Lymington operatives would be very fit given the amount of running around they do.
I probably shouldn’t, but I find the way various councils around the world collect rubbish, ridiculously intriguing.
Having returned from Waitrose, full of my newfound rubbish collection knowledge, I walked into the house to this little welcoming party:
By the looks of things, they are both checking that my big toe was okay.
Freya’s tiny head looks like she’s growing out of boriss shoulder – a cockapoo version of zaphod beeblebrox