Rubbish Collection

I knew I'd end up blogging about my rubbish collection. I just knew it. But I never thought it would be like this.

For many months I have engaged in correspondence with Ms.Catherine Cook at the London Borough of Tower Hamlets about her personal shortcomings, as exemplified in her failure to facilitate the collection of empty wine bottles and soiled cat litter from my doorstep on the appointed day. She never did, by the way, allow me to call her Catherine (emails forwarded on request to those unacquainted with this sorry tale) but nevertheless we did engage. Right up until she deemed me to be a Level Two complainant when she kicked me upstairs to a dreary technocrat who, for all I know, may as well be running Italy for all the good he's done me.

What happened today? I get home and for the first time in months my bloody rubbish has been collected on the right day. Obviously, a moment's calm thought would reveal to me that the Veolia employees responsible for this outrage are not 'public sector'. But they bloody well ought to be. And they ought not to have been collecting my rubbish today.

I'm so cross, I'm going to go and live in the Churchyard until the world is put to rights. At least I'll be able to see off the Grave Robbers.

Where's my blunderbus?

Except of course,they'll probably be on strike.

Workshy bastards.