I haven’t updated you on my love-hate relationship with English rubbish removal recently. I’ve become largely resigned to the monthly trips to the landfill/recycling centre to remove the rubbish and recycling the city is too precious to pick up. Inured to the occasional bin-tipper who just dumps all their household trash into a city rubbish bin, where it sits for weeks and weeks. The rejected yogurt pots removed from my recycling bins and tossed back on to my driveway. I’m still on good terms with the jumpsuited fellows at the recycling centre, which looks nice and frozen this time of year.
Now, remember all that snow we’ve been having? This part of England is not really cut out for snow. No plows, not much salting or shoveling. Mostly a lot of staying home or stepping gingerly over icy walkways, waiting for the inevitable rain to return and melt it all away. And, apparently, these conditions mean our delicate rubbish men are unable to retrieve our rubbish.
Look at those terrible road conditions, several days out from our major winter storm! How … um … what? Really? Rubbish collection — which only happens once every fortnight, anyway — has been canceled for this round because of the road conditions? These road conditions?
What does this make me think of? Hmm, what was it? Oh, right, the last time our trash removal was delayed in the States:
Sigh. Since the sweet, helpless, osteoperosis-ridden grannies who pick up our rubbish (I assume) are too dainty to collect when there is a spot of snow on the road, I’ll be off once again to haul my own rubbish and recycling to the local out-of-town recycling and landfill centre. Because, apparently, I am more hardcore than the professionals.