Rubbish (again)

 

I have made a booking at last. The instructions told me to go online and follow the directions so that is what I did. Shropshire.gov.uk then Recycling and rubbish and if you are still coping it is Household recycling centre bookings, from there you choose your vehicle, read the restrictions and simply fill in details for you and your car.

We had a slot of fifteen minutes at a named centre and we had to take identification. Packing the car was the easy bit.

We were early and expected to have to wait on the side but not a bit of it, we were waved on.

“You are on our system,” shouted the smiling attendant not even looking at our eagerly proffered ID. We sailed through as the barrier lifted but not so the person in the car behind. He did not seem to have known about booking and to his dismay he was stopped at the barrier.

There was only one other car on site but there were lots of assistants to help us.

“We used to fill this skip twice a week,” said one, “but now it takes a few weeks”.

I wonder where all the other rubbish is going. Perhaps we will soon all get used to the new system or maybe fly tipping will increase.

I thought that we had all got used to mobiles telling us the time or our friendly speaking pods. So, I could hardly believe it when I heard Kenton on the Archers refer to the speaking clock. It is surely a long time ago since we relied on phoning up to listen to the time precisely ‘At the third stroke…’  I have not had a watch for some time and only have a small clock in the kitchen. The computer and mobile are ever ready with the precise time. But apparently, I am wrong and people still ring up to hear the exact time.

Last week a bitterly cold north westerly wind, combined with driving rain caused unexpected havoc, but we managed to get out into town to our favourite café.

The waiter must have been troubled because there was a man on the next table to us who found he only had hot water when he poured his tea.

“I am sure I put the tea bag in,” said the troubled waiter as he took the lid off to look inside. He had indeed put something in, but it was not the tea bag it was the receipt all scrunched up and floating.

I stuck to a glass of water which we call ‘ducks’ wine’ here in Shropshire, and they have been getting plenty of that recently.