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Colette Mann finds hard rubbish day too much hard work

Hard waste collection – three delicious words, and our suburb is having one in a few weeks. Woo hoo! This is the chance to get rid of all the stuff that has been annoying me for years … well since the last one, last year, at least!
The information pamphlet landed in the mail box and I snaffled it to safety before it joined the pile of dirty and matted wet junk mail under the daisy bush that has recently engulfed our mail box. The funny little door at the customer side of the box rotted off some years ago and now all the small ‘‘snail’’ mail falls straight through. As it requires the balance and flexible contortions of an advanced Cirque de Soleil aerial artiste to retrieve said pieces of mail from behind the biggest daisy bush in Christendom, I tend to leave the boring pamphlets and various other bits of dross there. But the hard waste collection missive was too precious to leave. I devour this stuff. I love the rules, the stacks that must be built and categorised just so, and the titbits of info such as a ‘‘free detox drop off’’ for cans of paint containing less than 20 litres, batteries and fluorescent tubes. Fabulous!

So different to growing up in the long lost 1960s in Port Melbourne, where dad just loaded everything on to the trailer and we drove about five minutes to the tip down near the car ferry and dumped it there for free. I loved going with him in his beautiful powder blue Ford Customline and talking to Jack-the-tip-man who let me feed bread to the sea gulls while dad was unloading our rubbish. Even then, there were No Children Under 15 Allowed Here! signs near the big hole in the ground. Jack would give me a bag of lollies as we left – which now I come to think of it – could have been a bit suss, by today’s helicopter parenting attitudes. But hey, my parents thought nothing of it. His name was Jack Ditchfield, get it? Ditch (in the) field.

Anyway, back to now, and how my excitement and passion for a good old cleanout is matched by Sam’s and Charlie’s lack of interest in helping in any way at all.

I left a note on the first day for them to clear out under the stairs – a virtual treasure trove of unwanted trash. I came home to discover all they had managed to discard was one broken old wooden toy fort and a basket of small, half-full paint cans on the nature strip. “No!” I said in quite a loud voice – “read the pamphlet!”
I tried again. “What about all the stuff in the shed, the rubbish under the house, the cupboards in your rooms?” Blank looks – ‘‘oh, we’ll do that later’’. When later? I came straight back. I was fired up. I had the clean fairy in my veins. Even blanker looks – ‘‘oh, before we move out I s’pose’’. “NO!” I screamed, now sounding like a demented banshee – ‘‘WE need to do it NOW.’’
Well, after some severe young male huffing and puffing, we have managed two small stacks, of detritus, dross and dumped stuff. But I know I can give more, I know it is in here, and I know that I cannot let this opportunity to de-stuff pass me by. So once again, I guess I will be doing most of it myself.
Now I know why they call it hard waste. Where are you, dear old dad?

I left a note on the first day for them to clear out under the stairs – a virtual treasure trove of unwanted trash. I came home to discover all they had managed to discard was one broken old wooden toy fort and a basket of small, half-full paint cans on the nature strip. “No!” I said in quite a loud voice – “read the pamphlet!”

I tried again. “What about all the stuff in the shed, the rubbish under the house, the cupboards in your rooms?” Blank looks – ‘‘oh, we’ll do that later’’. When later? I came straight back. I was fired up. I had the clean fairy in my veins. Even blanker looks – ‘‘oh, before we move out I s’pose’’. “NO!” I screamed, now sounding like a demented banshee – ‘‘WE need to do it NOW.’’

Well, after some severe young male huffing and puffing, we have managed two small stacks, of detritus, dross and dumped stuff. But I know I can give more, I know it is in here, and I know that I cannot let this opportunity to de-stuff pass me by. So once again, I guess I will be doing most of it myself.

Now I know why they call it hard waste. Where are you, dear old dad?

Source: http://www.melbourneweeklybayside.com.au/news/local/news/columns/colette-mann-finds-hard-rubbish-day-too-much-hard-work/2356971.aspx?storypage=2


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