Last month, our local council, in its wisdom, decided it would go in for recycling.
In a big way.
So now, in addition to our black wheelie bin:
(except we have two black wheelie bins because of the amount of rubbish we generate).......we now have...the kerbside caddy, for food waste:
This is not the Father of This Lot, by the way. This is a man from a council website. Not ours. Do you see the small green caddy with which he's transferring the aforementioned food waste? That's the one you now have to keep in the kitchen to hold all your peelings, leftovers, eggshells, tea bags and bones.
I can fill one of these per day, so the kerbside caddy is of little use to me. I have had to commandeer my mothers, who flatly refuses to recycle, so in addition to our two black wheelie bins we now have two kerbside caddies.
Moving on, allow me to show you the green bin for garden waste:
I have to say we don't use this much, as there is little time for gardening. This mainly contains dead bunches of flowers which the Father of This Lot buys each time he finds himself in the doghouse. (So, at least one bunch per week, then).
Next up comes the brown bin, which is for plastics and aluminium. Due to the amount of canned drinks consumed around here, I actually have to sit on the lid of this one on Wednesday nights for collection on Thursday mornings.
Oh....I almost forgot.....the paper and card bin.
Are you still with me? Good.
This would all be really easy if every bin was collected every week.
No such luck.
The food bin is collected every week. The others are collected in some complicated rota which the council, very kindly, spent hundreds of thousands of pounds on printing, so that everyone would know which day was for which bin.
Par for the course, we have lost ours. So, at seven thirty on a Thursday morning, I can be found outside looking up and down the road to see what colour bin everyone else has put out. It would appear that I am not the only one who has lost their colour co-ordinated rota because I seem to put out at least one wrong bin per week.
As you can imagine, bins are the talk of the town.
Everyone I meet has a bin story.
Personally, I can't see it lasting. It's far too complicated.
In the words of one old lady at the church coffee morning:
'It's worse than bloody Sudoku!'