Soil & Trowel

Image by walkersalmanac from Pixabay

I was thinking yesterday that at the weekend I’m going to clean the bird muck off the top of my wheelie-bin as although the bin men and women no doubt see all kind of muck it’s not nice to have to deal with.

This reminded me of the state of uncleanliness that some people are happy to present their possessions in when leaving them with someone else – for repairs, alterations, inspections and so on.

I have worked in two places where I can give examples.  There was once an infamous motor-home taken to a dealership for its annual service.  This was an expensive van, top of the range and when the technician opened the habitation door he felt the need to let even us in the warranty office see it.  The carpets looked like they were 90% dog hair, the air was 90% dog breath, or at least, er, aroma.  The corners and edges of cabinets had been gnawed, hopefully by the dogs and we could only imagine what potentially coated the rest of the surfaces.

Then there’s a regular occurrence whereby someone will bring in a piece of greenhouse glass into the shop to be cut down to replace a broken piece, rather than buy a new, shiny piece.  We don’t mind doing this but it’s inconvenient when the piece they bring in has been sat behind the greenhouse for two decades and has built up a significant, shall we say, patina.  Usually it’s springtime so the moss and soil on the glass will be damp and we have to clean it off before we can use our glass cutters on the glass itself – if not we’d end up with clogged cutters and soggy cutting table.

Personally I couldn’t do that, even if I take items to a charity shop I clean them whether it is a t-shirt or a photo frame, I tidy the car before taking it for an MOT.  As for my bin, well maybe even the cat that likes to sit on it in the sunshine might appreciate it being cleaner too.



Man's face screaming/shouting. Stubbly wearing...

Man’s face screaming/shouting. Stubbly wearing glasses. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was just outside on the balcony, watching the rain, listening to the gentle drumming of each drop on the timber beside me and the car roof below me; listening to the birds twittering, the gentle rustling of the early spring leaves in the breeze; listening to the… THUMP THUMP THUMP of music from a nearby house, so loud I could hear it outside and down the street.

FFS, as they say.  I muttered to myself how they should go take their music, in their cars with the loud exhausts, and go play in the shopping centre car park.  I’m all for having fun, I play music loud sometimes but if my neighbour wanted to listen to it I’d lend her the CD.

This is part of the obsession with being noticed, of desire to be the centre of attention that leads some to crave fame via TV “talent” shows and others to make their presence known not by making or doing something creatively, significantly, interestingly, or even the age-old way of being stylish or glamorous but by effectively shouting LOOK AT ME!!!

Some ways they do this are amusing, you hear a loud, rasping exhaust note outside and when you look the car isn’t a throbbing V8 muscle car or a grunting V12 Ferrari, but then you didn’t expect it to be, it’s a 1.2 litre Fiesta, Corsa or Saxo being thrashed to within an inch of its life and trundling by at about 15 MPH.  It’s driver thinks it sounds powerful, he thinks everyone’s impressed, he thinks his girlfriend in the passenger seat is impressed.  Nobody’s impressed.

Others stand outside pubs, conversations escalating in volume as though the switch on the TV remote’s got stuck, all needing to be the loudest and probably paying little attention to what everyone else is saying, ironically.

The same extends to work, Facebook, Twitter – people saying anything to be seen, to be recognised.

Is anyone reading this.  Hello.  HELLO!