Once a fortnight i've got to drag me sorry arse out into the wind and the rain to put the grey rubbish bin out as well as the blue re-cycling bin, then the following week just the grey bin. Every odd Tuesday ,the frequency of which i've never quite managed to work out , i've got to get out of bed quick as the men are coming at some ungodly hour for the green garden waste bin. I leg downstairs yanking a scabby pair of shorts on ,race through the door shouting at the disapearing bin wagon and the severly hearing impaired bin men manning the wagon, they seem to respond to the shouts when they turn to high pitch screams as my bare feet make contact with the stones lying across the driveway as i drag the bloody bin half a mile up the road.When the conservative party had their annual back slapping get together the other week in Manchester under the guise of the Conservative party conference . An occassion to spend a fortune on nice hotels food n drink after a day of telling each other what an absolutly whizzo job they're all doing to save the country after the last lot screwed it all up. Unlike at debates the only interuptions are the endless standing ovations.
As the country and the world turns to shit it was good to see they had things in perspective and they concenterated on sorting out the frequency of wheelie bin collections. There was a little talk about a broken 'Iron clad' promise to hold a referendum on Europe, but thats another political broken promise...I wonder what colour wheelie bin they need for all those broken iron clad promises!.....
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