Today
Ever since the council brought in new refuse collection regulations, putting out the rubbish has become a core part of our week.
First, the wheelie bin. We only have a green one, because the brown ones are for garden waste and our garden isn't really big enough to produce much waste. This is emptied of non-food waste every 2 weeks. So we have to make sure that we know which week is which.
Then food, paper, cans and clothing are collected weekly. The food goes into a special container. So as not to make it totally disgusting we use compostible bin lines which can only be bought, it seems, from a local shop which opens about every third Wednesday between 11.00 and 13.30.
We have to put the bins out onto the pavement ourselves and complicated arrangements are made between neighbours when we're on holiday.
Our council doesn't collect card or plastic, so, to avoid a ridiculous build up of these items over the 2 weeks, we trot off to the recycling centre about once a week as well. This establishment proudly proclaims its recycling achievements, currently running at about 79%.
Our kitchen has a little grove of waste bins, suitably labelled, cluttering up one end.
In My Day
Rubbish collection was a much simpler matter when I was a child. We had huge galvanised corrugated aluminium bins with matching lids into which all rubbish was put. The bins were apt to fall over in high winds and the lids could travel miles. They were all kept at the top of the slope between the front and back gardens and were for the use of all inhabitants of the house.
The only thing that wasn't put straight in the bin was ash from the fire. This was wrapped in newspaper and put to cool on the back step. Why newspaper I have never understood as on at least one occasion the bin caught fire and set the back porch alight. The ash was sometimes used to combat mud or ice - something I've done myself when trying to get out of the Close in the snow.
The point about these bins was that the rubbish all went straight in; it not only wasn't sorted it also wasn't wrapped. In the Summer the bins became absolutely vile. Flies and wasps swarmed around them and maggots bred with terrifying speed. Being asked to take out the rubbish was a task to be avoided and I think that we girls generally managed to make it a boys' job.
From time to time Mamma would advance on the bins, after they'd been emptied, with Jeye's Fluid and buckets of hot water. Although the Jeye's Fluid smelled vile I quickly associated it with the garden becoming a nicer place to be. When I discovered that other people wrapped their rubbish up in newspaper I was amazed. I probably became one of the first to purchase bin liners and still, with double-wrapped rubbish, clean out the wheelie bin with disinfectant.
I am still astonished by the amount of rubbish we generate, despite using proper shopping bags and having that annoying habit of taking off a good deal of packaging at the checkout.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
No Sweat
Today
Yesterday was a pretty sweaty day. Firstly an hour at the gym, so, when I returned I had a lovely bath.
Later we played badminton. I did beat Paul 2:1 but it was quite tough and he had me running all over the court.
Back home I said "I'm so disgusting I think I'll have another bath". Which I did. Put on some nicer clothes and was fine for the evening.
In My Day
Our great Victorian pile was not lived in by us alone. We had tenants in about 2 floors of it. They mostly had flatlets consisting of two rooms and kitchenette. What they didn't have was the then unthinkable luxury of en-suite. Instead, on the first floor landing there was a single toilet for the use of first floor tenants and a separate bathroom which was shared by us and these same tenants.
The bathroom was pretty large and contained a bath and a basin. On the floor was lino and there was a cork bathmat. The room was heated by a paraffin heater (it smelled vile) which I was afraid to use. The bath was heated by a gas contraption called a "geyser". Quite frankly, it acted like one, giving you water of an unpredictable temperature with much spluttering and roaring. The gas flames flared and blazed as the water poured into the bath. It would probably be condemned today.
So, having a bath was a bit of an adventure and only happened once a week at most. The idea that you would nip up and bathe twice a day was unthinkable. In fact I think that Mamma thought that too much bathing was bad for you.
The room wasn't too secure either, so one bathed in the constant anxiety that Mr Nash (A bachelor tenant who gave no evidence that he bathed at all) would come in. In fact, I remember Julia Lawrence, who brought up 4 children in the other two bedroomed flatlet, actually did come in to get some washing that she'd left to dry and was very brisk about my modest shudderings.
I was amazed to discover that friends at school bathed every day - it seemed impossible. I never admitted to them what my arrangements were like. and I hope I didn't actually smell.
What I can't understand is how the other women at my body conditioning class maintain full make-up and don't produce so much as a single bead of sweat.
Yesterday was a pretty sweaty day. Firstly an hour at the gym, so, when I returned I had a lovely bath.
Later we played badminton. I did beat Paul 2:1 but it was quite tough and he had me running all over the court.
Back home I said "I'm so disgusting I think I'll have another bath". Which I did. Put on some nicer clothes and was fine for the evening.
In My Day
Our great Victorian pile was not lived in by us alone. We had tenants in about 2 floors of it. They mostly had flatlets consisting of two rooms and kitchenette. What they didn't have was the then unthinkable luxury of en-suite. Instead, on the first floor landing there was a single toilet for the use of first floor tenants and a separate bathroom which was shared by us and these same tenants.
The bathroom was pretty large and contained a bath and a basin. On the floor was lino and there was a cork bathmat. The room was heated by a paraffin heater (it smelled vile) which I was afraid to use. The bath was heated by a gas contraption called a "geyser". Quite frankly, it acted like one, giving you water of an unpredictable temperature with much spluttering and roaring. The gas flames flared and blazed as the water poured into the bath. It would probably be condemned today.
So, having a bath was a bit of an adventure and only happened once a week at most. The idea that you would nip up and bathe twice a day was unthinkable. In fact I think that Mamma thought that too much bathing was bad for you.
The room wasn't too secure either, so one bathed in the constant anxiety that Mr Nash (A bachelor tenant who gave no evidence that he bathed at all) would come in. In fact, I remember Julia Lawrence, who brought up 4 children in the other two bedroomed flatlet, actually did come in to get some washing that she'd left to dry and was very brisk about my modest shudderings.
I was amazed to discover that friends at school bathed every day - it seemed impossible. I never admitted to them what my arrangements were like. and I hope I didn't actually smell.
What I can't understand is how the other women at my body conditioning class maintain full make-up and don't produce so much as a single bead of sweat.
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