Dustbins

Lucy’s column for September 30.
Binlo…1
Oh dear, just as we are lulled into the false sense of security that in Derby, at least, our bin men are more benevolent than bullying, we get a slap on the wrist at Orgill Towers. Our crime? We put a plastic bag of hedge clippings in the brown wheelie, on top of the other garden refuse. Yes, it was that bad, dire enough to have a sticker slapped on telling us there were "inappropriate contents" inside, which meant they couldn’t empty it.
Unusually for himself, he didn’t storm the town hall steps bearing a placard with rude words on it, dragging the offensive receptacle, like he threatens he’ll do. Indeed, apart from tearing off the label, which is why I’m not sure of the exact wording, and mouthing a few expletives, he accepted that it was our fault, a stupid oversight, and in future he Must Do Better.
But really, it’s not beyond the wit of bin-man to tap him on the shoulder – he was but a few yards away when the "crime" was uncovered – and ask him to remove the bag, or knock on the door with the same request. Naturally, we wouldn’t go so far as to suggest that the refuse collector just jiggle about with the contents himself, and leave the black bag tucked into the lid. It’s clearly more than his job’s worth.
Our minor incident happened in a week when it was reported that a single mum faced a £700 fine. No, she hadn’t been caught dealing drugs, wielding a knife, or even driving dangerously – oh, silly me, they don’t warrant substantial fines, just a spell of counselling or community service, and never mind if you don’t turn up for either. Her heinous offence was under the heading "advancement of rubbish", meaning she’d put out her bin bags on the wrong day.
A couple of days later, another householder was left with a pile of flattened cardboard, which the recycling men wouldn’t take because it wasn’t cut up small enough.
Then we’ve had the 95-year-old whose collection was refused because he’d put a sauce bottle in the wrong bin by mistake. Not to mention the number of litter bins left unemptied because they were too near the kerb/too far away from the kerb /half-in-half-out of the garden gate/too far to trundle.
It’s the petty-fogging bureaucracy from power-mad councils which make you want to weep for the state of this country.
And you never know who’s lurking in the park these days, do you?
I’m not talking the would-be mugger, or potential paedophile, here. It’s the tinpot town hall dictators imposing petty laws, not to mention hefty fines, on all and sundry.
We read about it every day. There’s always some jobsworth prowling around, waiting to pounce should you drop a crumb, walk on the grass, or, heaven forbid, kick a ball with your toddler, or throw a bit of mouldy Hovis to the ducks.
Law-abiding citizens are sick and tired of being "criminalised" by a Government which is handing even more authority to local councils to create these rules, and more, with hefty financial penalties should we fall foul of these new laws. We can only hope they’re on the case should a mugger, paedophile, riot instigator, or to a lesser degree, a failure to pick up dog-poo criminal, raise their anti-social heads.
Meanwhile, back at our ranch, we will try never again to flout the laws of recycling our rubbish, if you, in turn, will use a bit of nous and common sense if we happen to have a senior moment. Talking of which, I’m the mad woman who, the week before Christmas collection, can be seen at 7am standing on the street corner in my nightie, wielding your £10 Christmas tip. Buoyed in the belief that such bureaucracy doesn’t happen in Derby.
End