What a rubbish thing to do

Just a quick early morning gripe before I start work and gear myself up for the day.

This morning, as predicted by the weatherman all week, we woke up to snow. Not a lot of snow it has to be said, but enough to turn the roof of the car white and make the garden look as if it had been dusted with icing sugar. Needless to say my kids were ever so happy at the prospect of building a snowman this weekend. I however failed to conjour up quite the same level of excitement.

I do of course love the look of snow as much as the next person – it has the magical ability to always make the place look prettier than it sometimes is. Even the ugliest looking council house – the sort with a mattress in the front garden and an old rust bucket of a car being stripped for parts in the driveway – can often look lovely under 5 inches of the white stuff. Bung in a couple of robins and some well placed holly and it might just pass as picturesque… example below.


OK, granted this particular dwelling I passed last year in Norfolk wouldn’t exactly be classed as ‘grotty’ without the snow, but I rather liked my photo so thought I’d add it anyway.

The downside of a winter wonderland is of course the inevitable drop in temperature. Add to that the daily windscreen de-icing fiasco and the often perilous driving conditions, and all that snow, as pretty as it is, can soon become something of a pain in your rather chilly backside.

But hey, we’re living in Norfolk now so I’m happy to accept that the first falling flakes mean that we’ll be living in Uggs and 2.6 tog socks until spring. Yes, you can actually get ‘tog rated’ socks, I found some last week and picked up several pairs. Along with some extra thick ‘booties’ from M&S. I’d rather they’d been called slipper socks than booties, but there you go.

So anyway, back to the gripe.

As I was rushing around the house trying to get both kids fed with an oat-based warm fodder and stuffed into their respective down-filled jackets, I paused by the front window. Mainly it has to be said because I was trying to woof down my own Oatabix on the move, and it seemed like a good idea to hover by the radiator to finish them off before they concealed into mush and stuck to the bowl like concrete.

Outside the house some miserable looking men were trotting up our hill to gather the recycling bins into the middle of the road ready for collection. I say miserable, because it was obviously cold out there, the bins were covered with snow and all of the men in question looked like they’d rather still be in bed. As indeed we all would have been I’m sure.

The lorry backed up, the rubbish was loaded and then it drove off. The miserable bin men then proceeded to return the bins to their rightful owners. Though not in a helpful way mind you, that would be far to kind.

Instead they plonked each bin back on its respective driveway, making sure that it was positioned right smack bang in the middle. Of course it could be a complete coincidence that they chose to place each wheelie in a place where no car – except a Smart car perhaps – could possibly hope to get by, but somehow I doubt it.

By the time I had chipped off the ice to open the car door and shoved an annoyed little boy into a seat that was probably cold enough to make his bits drop off, I certainly wasn’t in the mood to be trying to navigate between a bin and a hedge. Yes, I could and should have just moved the bloody thing out of the way first, but it was cold, I was grumpy and we were late.

I believe that some of the hedge may have been slightly damaged on our way out, but I’m sure it’ll survive and grow back. My bumper on the other hand, had it come into contact with the badly placed bin, wouldn’t have.

You probably think I’m being a tad over-sensitive and more than a little paranoid, thinking those men were out to get us all today. But I swear, the only time that those men cracked anything resembling a smile was as they walked away, smirking to each other and looking slightly too pleased with their handiwork.

Little sods, next time I won’t bother washing out my tins…




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