Recyling the recyling

Consternation in Divorce Towers this morning as today is D Day for the new recycling system. I’m sure most people would skip through today with a merry laugh but, for me, it seems like yet another cumbersome hoop to climb through, while trying not to trip over in my new high-heeled ankle boots (they’re lovely btw!).

Our previous system involved separating paper and plastics, and putting garden waste out in a brown bin, where it would moulder for a month or two until I’d ring and beg the council to do something about it. Then they’d come at 5am and wake us all up throwing the ancient lawn clippings all over the street. Sigh.

I’d just about got used to these strange ways, after switching over from a high-falutin’ Belgian system, when ominous leaflets started to flutter through the letterbox.

‘You’ll be receiving a countertop caddy. You’ll be getting compostable bags. All your organic waste will go in the brown bins. Your green bin will be collected once a fortnight. Paper, glass and plastic can now all be thrown in together.’

Deep sigh. I’ve spent so long separating paper and plastic that it really goes against the grain to hurl them into a blue box together. It’s like putting Jordan and Peter Andre in a confined space – it just doesn’t seem right.

Naturally, my countertop caddy has not arrived, so I’m putting the food waste in a flowerpot lined with the compostable bags, which have the oddest, flobbiest texture, and seem constantly on the verge of composting without any prompting from me.

I only hope the council do actually show up to collect the brown bins now. Rancid grass is one thing. Rancid spaghetti bolognaise and busily composting bags is another. As the girls would say, geerrrrrosssss.

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