It happened one fine Monday, On alighting from the bus I heard a low pitched rumble And asked, what was the fuss? Then I spied blue Iidded wheelies Lined up row on row, Folk performing a tribal dance As they trundled bins to and fro. They're in alleys, streets and gardens, Adorning many a home, Some have theirs on proud display A futuristic garden gnome. Now our cans, bottles and plastic, Once kept sacredly apart, Can be squashed, then tossed without a care Into the same new cart. Oh, we ’re lucky to have collections In the UK, there’s no doubt, But we can’t help feeling angry When our full bins are missed out! Chasing the refuse lorry Has become such an obsession - Could it replace the Tideswell Morris In our torchlight procession? Yes! The brand new Wakes committee Could save itself from stress, By staging a competition For best wheelie fancy dress. So forget those red collection tins, For now each lass and laddie Can process whilst rattling pennies In a neat green kitchen caddy. Well, I’ve studied the complex leaflet, Now maybe I'll take a degree, Enrol up at Derby Uni. Do a course in Binology. Or perhaps I'll decide to end it all, Give up, call it a day- Jump head first into my bin And throw myself away. That plastic bin will not rot down, So in future some time team boffin May dig it up and think I’m in An ancient, mobile coffin. written during a bout of bin-somnia.
Perhaps un-surprisingly Brian’s bin there before! This from Wakes 2005.
Kathryn Black