Sunday, 23 October 2011

BIN DAY

Today is the day before Bin Day. And although it’s only ten o clock in the morning, I am already in the grip of pre-Bin Day nerves.

For those of you blessed with a normal psychological profile, pre-bin day nerves is a nasty condition characterised by irrational anxieties about bins - and particularly bin collection. Imagine you’re in the middle of some humdrum housewifely activity, like watching your tears dissolve in the washing-up suds, when a question pops into your head. The first question might be mischievous, even playful, like “What happens if I forget to take out the bins?” or “What happens if I take out the wrong bins?” But then it all gets a little crazy, as in, “If I can’t entirely close the lid of the black wheelie bin (and the bin therefore represents a dire infringement of council health and safety guidelines because it is not hermetically f**king sealed), what is the maximum gap permissible between the lid of the bin and the body of the bin before the bin-men refuse to take the bin?” And “Will I get an orange contamination sticker if any unsuitable items are found in my bins? If I get a sticker, will I be seized by such a spectrum of irrational emotions (ranging from humiliation and feelings of hopelessness right through to rage and finally depression) that I end up in the loony Bin? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha….. (please help me…)

I know there are practical solutions, like subscribing to the council’s text reminder service, but whenever an incoming text hits my phone, it makes a sound only audible to whales. Furthermore, I’m not allowed to place my bins on the kerbside before 4.30pm, because if I do, there will be seagulls, and wolves, and possibly locusts, and the village will look like Egypt after the Ten Plagues of Yahweh, or in other words, like shit. So just to recap, as it’s still only ten in the morning, I have a whole six hours to forget to take the bins out, and only another 13 and a half hours to re-remember.   

As for worrying about taking out the wrong bins, yes, I have downloaded the Council’s Waste Collection Calendar, so yes, I know that black bins are collected fortnightly, and green bins are collected weekly. But I’m a ‘lunar month’ kind of girl. I go by the ebb and flow of my menstrual cycle. If I’m rocking psychiatrically in the children’s playhouse in the garden, and there are huge ugly crescents of zits on each cheek, and I’m eating a Haribo Mega Party Pack, including the plastic, then it’s day 26. If I’m shouting ‘jizz’ in my sleep, and acting like a complete and utter whore, it’s day 13. So as far as I’m concerned, the Waste Collection Calendar is just a piece of sexist, phallocratic dogshit.

And if all this angsty bin collection crap weren’t enough, what about the shimmering, maggoty lakes of disease at the bottom of the wheelie bin? It’s bad enough when you get hit by spray from a toilet brush, but when it’s bin juices, and it catches you on the top lip, or worse, in the eye, then depending on the incubation period of the particular disease you have undoubtedly contracted, it’s only days before you get nose bleeds, and jaundice, and festering boils, and you start to look like Zommer from Moshi Monsters.

I’m starting to think that the only real solution to my pre-Bin Day nerves thing is to get my partner to do it. In some households the men are responsible for the bins!!! Can you believe it?!!! Last week, I told my partner this, who then explained, very patiently, that although he was aware of the practice, he didn’t want to patronise me.  I was so touched that I cried and cried into the washing-up suds. And then I took the bins out.

13 comments:

  1. My OH used to do the bins but on account of long working hours I'm now doing it, and it sucks. There's the kitchen bin, food recycling and all other manner of recycled stuff that all gets put out together. Oh and the nappy bin. And as far as I am concerned bin juice (gags) is a weapon of mass destruction. It just so happens its bin day tomorrow for me. I'm already shaking ...........

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  2. Bin juice absolutely sucks (oops, wrong verb)

    By the way, have almost finished your guest post. Twill be winging its way towards you tomorrow ...

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  3. Yeah, my Hub does the bins. I don't do bins. Ever. Bin juice *gag* will not sully my skin. Or immune system.

    I think you need a burning pyre. Chuck stuff on the burning pyre. No fiddly bin schedule, no bin juice. Just nice, clean, burnt rubbish.

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  4. I've got one for you.....imagine prawn shells that have been in the bin over the Christmas holidays. Then imagine Chrismas holidays here in Australia when it's well into the 30's! Bin juice gone REALLY bad! A kind neighbour told us (after the event) that you have to leave prawn stuff in the freezer until the minute before the bin people come. I don't do bins if I can help it and most definitely not in Summer!
    x

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  5. Had not thought of a burning pyre tbh. Dont you think i might come across a bit Grace Poole? I like it already!

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  6. Haia Beth. Yn ol y gwr, dyw e ddim yn gallu arogli unrhyw beth o gwbl, yn llythrennol, felly dwi'n credu fy mod i'n mynd i drial operation prawn shells haf nesa, jest i weld os mae'n dweud y gwir!

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  7. Dear Flossie. The only burning pyre in our house is your raging sense of martyrdom. mwah etc

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  8. If I forget to take the bins out I am subjected to an interrogation techniques last use at Guantanamo Bay. Orange boiler suit and all!!

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  9. Please say you don't mean that horrible variation on water-boarding - bin-juice-boarding?

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  10. My husband does the bins. The one time I tried, I got bin juice in my eye. I didn't catch anything, but then again, I've swum in the Nile (didn't want to offend the captain of the feluka), so I've either got the most hardcore immune system ever, or I'm going to suddenly drop dead of a mediaeval disease. The fun is in the waiting.

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  11. Bin spit and Nile slime can't be good for you. But hey, my husband once ate a little sliver of poo from my daughter's nappy, thinking she'd dropped some of her tuna mayo sandwich on his lap. I should add he has no sense of smell!! He's still alive, albeit traumatised.

    PS You still blogging? Looked at your site but couldn't see anything recent?

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  12. Do you know, bin day is my favourite day of the week. Bit like New Year's Day in that I feel I can start domestic life afresh, uncontaminated by cat litter and fish bones. But the sensation only lasts five minutes and makes me realise how small middle-aged horizons become!

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  13. Thank you! A fresh perspective on bin day! (Although there was a little flicker of panic as I wondered which bins are the correct bins for cat litter and fish bones!)

    Dear me, I think I may need a job!!

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