Well, I think I've found the aforementioned wheelie bins. In a clearing further into the forest, around forty metres beyond the entrance to the allotment, the trees thin out and five or six burnt circles of ground lie at different spaces throughout. Lying between the high fences of one side of the allotment and the high fences of the back end of a sewage works lies this, the hoodies, secret night time getaway. Walking the path down to the area, it was immediately apparent this was our bins final journey. Ka's empty Morrisons' passata boxes from her most recent batch of meatballs lay at one side of the path, wet, soggy and adandoned. Collapsed trunks and tree roots lie over the leafy floor in and around their bonfire remains. Small piles of thick melted blue plastic, the blackened remains of old newspapers, magazines and plastic containers all dotted around the black cinders and ashes. One lone wheelie bin wheel protruding from one pile. The bone like remnants of the streets' waste disposal units. So my idealistic visions of jumping in to a major bin smuggling operation have disintegrated some what. Apparently some folk nick these bins to sell them on. Apparently the cost can be as much as £60?! Makes me even angrier that the bins are now mouldy, misshapen blobs of plastic. I could have nicked the bins myself and made some money out of it?!
Thursday, 26 March 2009
A final burning place
Well, I think I've found the aforementioned wheelie bins. In a clearing further into the forest, around forty metres beyond the entrance to the allotment, the trees thin out and five or six burnt circles of ground lie at different spaces throughout. Lying between the high fences of one side of the allotment and the high fences of the back end of a sewage works lies this, the hoodies, secret night time getaway. Walking the path down to the area, it was immediately apparent this was our bins final journey. Ka's empty Morrisons' passata boxes from her most recent batch of meatballs lay at one side of the path, wet, soggy and adandoned. Collapsed trunks and tree roots lie over the leafy floor in and around their bonfire remains. Small piles of thick melted blue plastic, the blackened remains of old newspapers, magazines and plastic containers all dotted around the black cinders and ashes. One lone wheelie bin wheel protruding from one pile. The bone like remnants of the streets' waste disposal units. So my idealistic visions of jumping in to a major bin smuggling operation have disintegrated some what. Apparently some folk nick these bins to sell them on. Apparently the cost can be as much as £60?! Makes me even angrier that the bins are now mouldy, misshapen blobs of plastic. I could have nicked the bins myself and made some money out of it?!
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1 comment:
That's so crap (I just stopped myself typing that's so rubbish as it's not a punnable situation). I can't understand why anyone would go to such an effort to be so pointlessly destructive.
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