Bin Men Blues

I made a complete arse of myself again this morning. Our household rubbish was due to be collected and I’d forgotten to empty the bin in the kitchen. Hannah and her latest squeeze had been indulging in pizza and cheap wine all week, so the bag was full of half-cooked pepperoni and half-ingested garlic crusts. I was sitting in my dressing gown and slippers watching ‘Frasier’ when I heard the truck arrive, so I grabbed the bag from the bin and ran outside to catch them. They were already reversing out of our road, so I stupidly decided to run after them, failing to notice that the edge of the bag had caught on the kitchen door as I left and it had ripped in half as I shuffled down the path.
So picture the scene – a fat, unfit 25-year-old running down the road in an old mans slippers and a dressing gown that hasn’t been washed for a year, shouting ‘Stop! Please!’ like some kind of deranged imbecile while last weeks bean tins and various used prophylactics are falling on the pavement behind me. I hoped beyond hope that no-one would have noticed, but there was Ted at his window, laughing so hard he was risking another heart attack, while Mad Mrs Delbert at no. 32 was standing by her gate with her can and her shopping bag, and her sharp, aged wit.
“Training for the Olympics?” she said with a grin.
Emptying the bins is now Hannah’s job.

RC 8-5-09
1932 BST