It's A Tip Jim But Not As We Knew It

When I were a lad the local council tip consisted of a big hole in the ground that you would visit a couple of times a year and throw things in.

Given the size and depth of the hole there was always the possibility that two things might happen: firstly as a small child you could fall in and either disappear for ever or be carried off by a giant seagull, secondly somebody could throw an old washing machine or bike in with such force it would hit somebody in Australia on its way out the other end. My, how things have changed.

Our local council Household Waste Disposal and Recycling Centre doesn't have a hole in sight. It has about forty skips into which you place, you mustn't throw in case somebody is in the skip, your rubbish. The skips are classified into various types of material: household, glass, metal, wood, paper, newspaper, cardboard, motor oil and there is the fabled scavengers area.

The scavengers area is actually managed by the family that looks after the site for the council, I suppose it is the closest they were ever likely to come to running their own business. This is where you leave anything that is 'too good' to be simply crushed into a hundred pieces, you know televisions, old stereos that sort of thing. About four years ago I decided it was time to part with my four foot fish tank, complete with hood, light and the mahogany cabinet it had sat on for the best part of ten years. By the time Janis and I had returned to the car having deposited the tank and the cabinet they had already been taken by another couple, I had to call after them to give them the hood!

Weekends at the scavengers area is busier than Monday at Christchurch market, I'm not sure whether this says more about the quality of stuff people are getting rid of these days or the quality of merchandise on offer at the market. Janis decided that she was going to give Nathalie's old clothes to charity rather than take them to the tip, after our visit last Sunday she said she would have been upset to have seen the black bags ripped apart by people keen to get the next 'bargain'.

After the last five days I've had enough of the 'recycling site' to last a lifetime, the car knows the way there so well I don't have to steer anymore, just get in and say the word tip and off it goes like a French version of Herbie. Shy was right when he said we often do more on holiday than we perhaps should, things were quiet at work and I actually feel I've achieved something this week, now I have four days to chill out before work.