I’ve mentioned before that ever since I bought my first house in December, I’ve been sort of a half-adult; having my shit together dead hard on the surface, but underneath I’m just sort of doing a lot of crashing around, looking for food and wondering what the fuck I’m doing.
What people don’t tell you about moving into your first house is that there’s a lot of admin; bills to sort, shit to buy, phone lines to install which apparently takes a fucking lifetime to sort out – looking at you BT – and sometimes things slip under the radar.
In my case, it was actually quite a big thing that fell by the wayside… ordering my bins.
Every day I meant to ring the council on my lunch hour, and every day I forgot… because, well, food. So Saturday mornings for the last couple of months have been spent taking my rubbish to the tip, (awww, remember Saturdays as a kid you’d go to the tip and Makro with your Dad and feel like you’d been on an actual adventure?)
Anyway, that wasn’t a problem… until a month ago I wrote my car off, which subsequently wrote any trips to the tip off the agenda too.
Look what I’m trying to say is that – and I’m not proud of this – my garden is now home to a fuck off massive pile of bin bags.
So I finally rang the council yesterday because the situation had become dire and, apparently, it’s going to take two weeks for my purple bin to come. Which in bin bag mountain years is about a decade.
“Fair enough,” I thought, “I suppose it’s self inflicted after all, and I can probably get away with sneaking rubbish into my neighbours’ bins at night under the cloak of darkness.” That is, until I spoke to my neighbour this morning who told me her bins came THE NEXT DAY. Aw HELL no.
So I got back onto the Council:
“Mate I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation. There is literally a mountain of rubbish in my back garden. Like, kids are going to hear tales from their Grandparents about the great bin bag mountain of ’16.”
“There’s nothing I can do, Miss. It takes 14 days.”
“Doesn’t though, does it. What are you lying for?”
“I can assure you I’m not lying, Miss. It takes 14 days.”
“I’ve also got an old wardrobe out there I can’t seem to shift. Probably home to a family of rats now. I’ll be known round Walton as the Mother of Rats. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“Doesn’t really bother me, Miss.”
Until next time… x