Posted in Funny videos, Having a rant, On my soap box, This thing we call life.

A right load of old garbage.

wheelie-bin-saga-2Back in the day, here in the UK and I’m guessing quite probably in a quite a few other parts of the world, households had a simple metal dustbin. We even made up songs about it here in good old Blighty.

My old man’s a dustman he wears a dustman’s hat. He wears cor blimey trousers and he lives in a council flat.”

 

Sang Lonnie Donegan in 1960.

And here’s the proof.

Once upon a time the dustman came to collect your one metal dustbin, which was discretely tucked away in a corner of your garden. He would leave the lid and haul the bin, on his shoulder to the waiting wagon. Then, he would return the empty bin, replace the lid and if you were super lucky… close the gate after himself. And the bins were emptied every week – not fortnightly.

The downside of it was – there were massive landfill sites, scarring the landscape and gulls the size of a small dog feasting on the festering mess.  We were rapidly running out of places to dump our garbage and something had to be done.

These days we have a bin for household waste, recycled waste and garden waste.

wheelie-bin-saga

They come in lovely bright colours, such as blue, green and black. Some of us have small courtyard gardens and have opted to use garden refuse sacks, which have to be bought  and a licence obtained in order for the bin men to stop and lob the sacks  into the back of their huge wagons.

The remaining two bins in garish colours and proudly displaying the name of our local borough council – lest we forget who the magnificent things belong to, take up about a sixth of our yard. They blend in perfectly and in summer positively hum – but not with the sound of insects.

At this point, after I’ve emptied an entire bottle of concentrated disinfectant into it and it still smells like a mini landfill – because it has been sitting there festering in a heat wave for two weeks, I dump it the passage at the back of our cottages.

The day before bin day we drag the monsters around to the front of the house. I know there are some folk out there who have about a mile to walk from their house to the bottom of the lane, with their wheelie bin… because these super-duper vans can’t come up the lanes these days. We are asked to put the bins out for 6am on the collection day. I have yet to see a van out at that time – but, we live with the fear of being left with the festering mess for another two weeks – that would give us a month’s worth of garbage – very nasty garbage to contend with.

It’s easy to see when the bin men have been… various wheelie bins are scattered all over the pavement. If you’re pushing a pushchair, or driving a scooter enormous fun can be had tackling the obstacle course. Sometimes you actually have to move the bins out-of-the-way.

In order to cut down on the waste material that can now be sent for recycling, packages arrive in huge cardboard boxes filled with about a tree’s worth of brown paper. The pen that you ordered is in perfect condition and the box and paper fill your recycling bin.

I’ve had a run – in with our local council recently over them failing to empty our recycling bin. It was happening all too frequently. We live on the main road that runs through the heart of our village. On bin day the road is a sea of bin wagons and yet on several occasions recently not one of them stopped to empty our bins.

Just what kind of service were we paying for and surely common sense should have told them to stop and sort out the line of seven eagerly waiting to be emptied bins? Er… no.

Anyhow, after a series of rather silly emails that they sent to me and which annoyed the hell out of me, the matter has now been happily rectified.

At my most mad moment I took to Twitter… a la Donald Trump style.

Just who the hell do I think I’m talking to? I asked myself. I’m not one of the most powerful people in the world.

But, it felt so good. I’ll give Trump that.

However my series of garbled and somewhat confusing messages will be out there forever! Not so good.

I growled at the woman in the refuse department when she couldn’t and wouldn’t answer my questions.

” If you don’t stop shouting at me I will end this call.” She told me.

Honey, if you think that is shouting you need to develop thicker skin. I didn’t swear at you, insult you, or use my extensive sarcasm on you. I had to raise my voice because you wouldn’t let me get a word in edgeways!

All is now well in the garbage garden and we’ve kissed and made up. I have the manager of the department on speed dial and I’ve emailed him to ask him to send my apologies to the woman who was on the end of my frustration.

I was going to ring her and then I thought she might just have a nervous breakdown. Best not.

My beautiful garbage bins are now back in the garden and look as wonderful as ever. And, as I’ve taken delivery of a packet of TENS Machines pads this morning… the packaging for it has now filled the recycling bin. Roll on the next fortnight!

How about you?

Do your bins get emptied and do the bins fill your garden? Do they hum to you in summer? It would be interesting to know how other parts of the world tackle their garbage.

I know – I need to get out more.

Thanks for dropping by.

Dorne x

 

 

 

 

Posted in Inspirational videos, On the wild -side., Yorkshireland

On the wild side: treecreepers.

On a recent  dog walk the Daisy dog daisy-soft-2and I wandered by our local river, the Derwent.

The moist air made the strands of my hair peeping out from my hat damp and the sky was a wash of different shades of grey. The Daisy dog read her morning, doggy newspaper and I was mesmerised by the dark brown water slowly flowing south.

It was only when it started to hop up, from the base of the weeping willow tree trunk, that I spotted it.

A first for me… a treecreeper!

Photo credit: bidddievan.tumblr.com
Photo credit: bidddievan.tumblr.com

This small bird, about 12 centimetres in length was perfectly camouflaged against the rough, brown trunk of the tree and viewed from the side… albeit briefly – it had a  pure, white breast.

I wish I could say that I managed to get a photograph of it, but I didn’t. I had a greyhound on a lead to contend with… remember. How many times do you line up your shot and just as you are about to get a half-decent image – the pooch moves and there goes your chance? Then the animal/bird moves and you’re left with nothing but memories … and a dog that is clearly bored and wants to get on with the walk.

Take it from me – it was great to watch and I will never forget that memory.

It carefully creeped up and  around the tree, picking off insects with its slightly curved beak. Its tail acted as a support.

But, I can’t come on here and sing the praises of this rather clever bird and not let you see for yourself. So, if you want to see what some folk call a tree mouse – because of the way it cleverly scales tree trunks – have a look at this clip. Just click on the links.

Here Bill Oddie ( a great British Institution) and Kate Humble watch and discuss the huddling and cuddling treecreepers.

As for me – I’ve got a permanent stiff neck now, as I walk around looking up trees hoping for another sighting of a treecreeper… my new favourite bird.

Enjoy.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/nature/life/Eurasian_Treecreeper#p0085b7r

As part of my new – look Write Dorne I’m going to include some wildlife posts and pages on here in future. So, if  you’re interested in reading about some of the great wildlife I’ve been lucky enough to see in my part of Yorkshireland, call back sometime.

Thanks for dropping by.

Dorne x

 

 

 

 

Posted in Inspirational videos, Morning coffee, Video corner.

Morning coffee: dreams.

Good morning from my part of Yorkshireland. I’m just back from a long walk with the Daisy dog and now I’m having my morning coffee.

I was thinking about one of my favourite films Inception. Every time I watch it I see something else that I hadn’t noticed before… it’s that type of film isn’t it? It’s mind-boggling stuff.

It’s layers upon layers and dreams of dreams. Nothing is as it seems and different dimensions converge. In other words we can’t explain everything. So true. If we could where would we be?

A great movie, great music and some classy acting.

I hope your coffee was good.

Thanks for dropping by.

Dorne x

Posted in Christmas, Having a rave., My family and other animals, This thing we call life., Video corner., Yorkshireland

Do you remember Dixon of Dock Green in the sixties? A Saturday trip down memory lane.

childhood

There’s something special about Saturdays. I was born on a Saturday night, just as Jack Warner as Sergeant Dixon in Dixon of Dock Green said “Evening all!” I’m led to believe that this was about 9.20 pm. My paternal grandma watching it downstairs, turned up the sound on the television as I screamed upstairs,throughout the episode. When it had finished she investigated the source of the noise pollution. She loved me really… and me her.

For those of you that aren’t familiar with 1960’s television shows in the UK, here’s a clip of the opening titles.

 

You’ve got to admit that’s pretty gripping stuff. Cor blimey! This show went on for many years. Sergeant Dixon brought me into the world and accompanied me throughout most of my childhood.

As a very naughty six-year-old that crawled the length of the children’s hospital ward underneath the beds, to hide from the nurses; used the beds as trampolines and swung from the toilet chains, I had my tonsils removed. I also pretended to be falling asleep and then made my bid for freedom, as the poor surgical staff tried to anaesthetise me. Round and round the room I raced, like a caged animal trying to escape. Someone opened a door and I saw my escape… only to be captured by a mad scramble of frustrated, but relieved hands.

“I’m going to sleep now.” I told them and waited for that awful black mask to be removed from my face.

I woke up on the ward, minus my tonsils and feeling cross with myself for letting them get the better of me.

For being such a good girl? I got a Lady Penelope doll. I was Thunderbirds crazy. My Lady Penelope wasn’t chauffeured around by Parker in a pink Rolls Royce, no…  she drove herself in a blue, plastic jeep. She drove like a mad woman and did things for herself. She didn’t wear the shop bought costumes. I made my own creations for her and I think mum might have chipped in as well with a few items. She was a hippy with headbands, maxi dresses and was nothing like her television personality. She talked with a Yorkshire accent and didn’t brush her hair very much. She climbed trees, played in mud and sand and just lived like a child.

Here’s the Thunderbird’s version of her Ladyship in action.

Later on, as a teenager, Saturday meant pay-day for my paper round and a free Mars bar. I’d buy a can of coke and slurp, and munch my way around my paper round. Then I’d head off to Music College for the morning. I played clarinet. I still have it and occasionally I try the odd Clarinet concerto… as one does. My mouth is not used to the reeds these days and I get blisters. Also, it sounds like a cat on heat! The poor thing can’t get any relief.

These days Saturdays are still special to me. It’s almost as if I can feel them. The traffic that meanders its way through the village and past our cottage sounds different and feels different. I can almost feel that Saturday shopping anticipation/ going to the match/ to visit friends. No work – for some. At this time of the year Christmas shopping is picking up and the excitement levels of guys being dragged off to shopping centres is at an all time high.

Early on a Saturday morning I  roam the sleeping village streets with the Daisy dog and imagine the snoring folk behind the closed blinds and curtains. Eventually, they will rise, without the aid of an alarm and sleepily wander into their Saturday.

The only part of Saturday I can’t abide is the evening television. It’s all stupid game shows, dancing, prancing and mindless garbage for morons. Yeah, I love it. I persuade hubby to binge watch zombies, controlling presidents/politicians and aliens. A bit like Brexit and the Amercian Presidential Election really!

So, that’s a muddled up post about Saturdays/ childhood memories and a bit of other stuff thrown into the mix.

And to think that this all started off with some fog and frost this morning. It got me out of bed… to photograph it and it got me thinking about Saturday.

There may be some of you who would have preferred the fog and frost… SORRY! But, memory lane got in there first.

So, did any of you have a Lady Penelope doll? Watch Thunderbirds? Play clarinet? Do you remember Dixon of Dock Green? Have your tonsils removed in childhood? Climb trees?

I’m off to walk the Daisy dog now and climb a few trees! Oh, and I forgot to mention the roller skating. Maybe next time.

Thanks for reading.

Dorne x