Ah, this old spring-shooing is working great. The place is spotless, thanks to all the friends who took pity on me and came together to tidy up the disaster that is my lair.
It’s so clean I’m afraid to live in it.
I can’t use the kitchen, in case I might get a splash of water on something, or maybe a carrot peeling. I can’t sit down in front of my 843-inch flat-screen digital tv (now with added fibre) in case I wrinkle one of the strategically-placed cushions. I take off my shoes at the front door. I take off my socks. I take off my feet.
Jesus, it’s clean. It’s immaculate. It’s spotless.
I’m going to kill someone.
Outside the door, there’s a skip. Can you believe it? A real, genuine, fuck-off skip for throwing stuff into, but of course, I can’t just toss all the potentially-useful unwanted electronic equipment into it, or the potentially-useful lengths of half-inch plastic pipe. Or the potentially-useful part-used tubs of paint that might or might not still be liquid. I can’t put any of that in the skip, which means I have to find people to take it all, and let’s not joke around : I’m finding some success in that effort.
I don’t know if I mentioned some time back that the pressurised water tank corroded and I had to replace it. No? Well never mind anyway. It just did, or to be more precise, the central-heating coil corroded due to my own stupidity in forgetting to replace an anode, but let’s leave that moment of humiliation to one side for now. It’s buggered as a water tank, but not for everything. It’s made of stainless steel, it’s insulated, and I was not going to toss it on a junk heap, so I gave it to a passing academic hippie type who’s doing a project on rainwater harvesting.
Here. Take the fucking thing.
Boxes of floor tiles and wall tiles? They’ll go to the recycling centre. Maybe somebody else will use them. Old stereos. Speakers. Broken power tools.
You want ‘em? You take ‘em.
Obviously I’ll be using this opportunity to dispose of enemies my henchmen have taken out over the years, but apart from that, everything is available. God bless the skip. Come and take in the middle of the night. I promise my dog won’t bark.
And so it goes. How we recycle is our own business, although I’m afraid it will be hard to recycle the rusty bicycle that sits glowering at me like an old dog who knows his time is coming close.