Recycling

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It has happened again. I had hoped that we would have stopped doing this. At the end of our little road there is a gateway to a farmer’s field and people often use this entrance to pull off the A5 and stop. Perhaps for a rest, perhaps for a snack or sometimes to release racing pigeons, there is no harm in that you may think, and it is even interesting to see the pigeons released and flying in circles above our house. But earlier this week as I drove past, I saw a huge tip of rubbish. There it was slung across the gateway, blocking the entrance to the field and giving us all a nasty shock to see this eyesore in the countryside.

It has all disappeared now and my guess is that the farmer has had to remove it as he did last time it happened. Now our cash-strapped council is considering the closure of two of our recycling sites in Shropshire. I dread to think what will happen to our gateways and roadsides if fly-tipping increases.

I have heard that 70% of the rubbish we throw out onto the roadside is made up of drink cans, glass bottles and plastic drink containers. I can quite believe it as I walk to our post-box on our lane. When I look closely, I wonder where it is all coming from. I never see anyone doing it, perhaps in the dead of night it is thrown unseen onto the verges, only to come to light in the morning. I am thinking that this rubbish should go in my recycling bin and am (almost) tempted to put gloves on and pick it up.

I am having to recycle my swimming costume not on purpose but of necessity. It is old, faded and loose fitting but I have no choice. You see, as part of my physiotherapy, after my operation, I have been allocated some hydrotherapy sessions. I have not been swimming for many years and had not realised how old my costume was, there was no time to get a new one, so I had to brave it out and hope that the water hid my shameful attire.

But my swimwear problems paled into insignificance when I went for a coffee afterwards and met a couple who joined my table.  They listened to my woes with kindness then told me their news which was a thousand times more frightening than mine. He had been called in for a routine scan at the age of 65 and it was discovered that he had a bulge in the walls of an artery. Thankfully a successful operation saved his life.


(Taken from my column in the Shropshire Star)

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