Sunday, June 28, 2009
Litter bore
Yesterday to Epsom Common, late afternoon when it was nothing like the 30 degrees threatened by the man in the box. Passed the small pond where there was a good deal of fishing going on, plenty of buzzer and other boys. For once, someone actually caught quite a large fish as we were passing, a bream maybe a foot or more long. Didn't struggle much but I do not suppose being a fish in the bright sun is all that much fun; rather put me off the whole business. OK to do it to eat but not for fun. Suitably solemnised, then observed the large amount of litter around the fishing area, which might or might not be moved when the boys move. (There was the odd girl but only in accompaniment mode. No fishing girls). So, observing a large, reasonably clean bread bag, decided to become a litter bore for the afternoon. Bag about half full by the time we left the common, having seen one heron and one deer on the large pond. Thought about arranging the litter when we got home, a la enim, and photographing it for the blog but decided not to. Thought about writing an essay about the various detritus that one finds in this way, declaiming ponderously therein on the waste of the world, but decided not to do that either. Between the common and home found more litter than we had found on the common, but this including an empty compost bag from a garden centre, so I did not run out of space. The worst stretch, as one might expect, was around Stamford Green School. But this did include at least one house which had given up clearing it's front verge every morning, which is I think what we would do if we lived nearer the school. Got to set a standard. Got to do it visibly so that the little darlings gradually get the idea that littering the streets is not cool. Full compost bad ended up in our green dustbin. Thorough hand washing, the thoughts of Weil's disease having sprung to life. (Took me a little while to extract the name out of Mr. G., having thought that it was spelt Vial's disease. But I did learn that the posh name was leptospirosis).
The green dustbin has been recently supplemented by a black dustbin and a small green dustbin. The former, is I think, for various containers, not tins or glass which are catered for by a blue box, supplied earlier. The small green dustbin is for food waste and which we do not use as we have a compost bin. The small green dustbin accompanied by a very small grey dustbin intended as a kitchen residing food waste transfer facility. As we use a bucket under the sink for this purpose, following the natal tradition of Cambridge, the very small grey dustbin is now used as a medicine chest upstairs. We also have a reasonably complicated book of instructions which I suspect many of our otherwise respectable neighbours have not bothered to read, at least to judge by their lack of success in getting the right bin on the right pavement on the right day. All good stuff. Perhaps FIL will sign up for bin watch, this being the about to be announced big brother to neighbourhood watch. Perhaps I should write to the chief nanny about this one in case she overlooks the possibilities.
Interested to see that the DT is showing signs of moving off MP's expenses onto grossly overpaid public servants, starting with the well oiled fat cats from the BBC. I guess that in these recessionary times, people are going to be a lot more sensitive to the fact that the gap between the rich and the poor has become very large. Far larger than is healthy to my mind. Bound to lead to resentment and trouble of one kind or another. Maybe we will even have a proper debate about why someone with the bad luck to be born stupid on a bog standard housing association facility should get paid one hundredth of that which someone with the good luck to be born with acquisitive skills in a leafy suburb gets paid. One might make an argument about how the acquisitive people need to be motivated and that money is the easiest way to do this. One might talk about huge salaries being market driven and that market forces have to be left to do their thing, whatever that might be. But I am not convinced. I think the United Kingdom would be a happier and better place if we dragged these huge differentials down a bit. Started to break up the cosy circle of acquisitive people agreeing amongst themselves to pay themselves these huge salaries. Not to mention the pensions and the expenses.
Then I wonder what Mr Al-Fayed's expense account looks like. Presumably there is one somewhere. Maybe one of his assistants just draws down large amounts of cash every day and does it like that. No detailed paperwork to embarass him with tales of golden antelopes doing service as bath taps. A differance in his case being that he is a successful business man. What he chooses to do with his money is his business. But a CEO with shareholders to answer to is not quite the same. What about a CEO who also happens to own 51% of the shares? Are there rules about the extent that he can ride roughshod over the interests of the 49%. A quest for another day.
# posted by Jim @ 12:11 AM 
