People I know have started calling me Victor, a reference that will not be lost on anyone who ever watched the BBC sitcom ‘One Foot in the Grave’.
But really, I don’t believe it!
A week ago the river bank was almost pristine and litter free. However, the school holidays are upon us and there have been successive days of spring sunshine and the undergrowth is blooming litter like damp forgotten swimwear in a plastic bag sprouts mould. But this is to litter and beyond!
I passed the car parked in the designated turning space (selfish enough) along the narrow twisting lane on my way to the river. And again on the way back. A few minutes later and I’m driving down the lane heading for home and the car is just backing out into the road. I pause and let them get underway. And there, propped against the bushes is a metal framed, fluorescent pink canvassed folding chair. The canvas hangs ragged and torn. Those bastards have just carried it back from the river bank and rather than take it home in their car they have dumped it.
Why? Why do people do it? They carry full picnic baskets to the river bank and afterwards load up with the empty cans, bottles, plastic wrappers and then leave it the car park when presumably there is still room for it in the car it came out of in the first place.
Anyway, it’s now in my shed on its way to being recycled.