Last week the Evening Post carried a report of a pensioner, Karl Heinz, who was quoted £15 to dispose of an old kettle. The binmen refused to take it and when Mr Heinz of Redfield rang up the council, he was told it would cost that amount – probably several multiples of what the appliance originally cost – to arrange for a special collection if he did not want to take it to the tip himself.
Fifteen portraits of the Queen is the charge introduced last year by Bristol City Council to collect the bulky items the regular waste collections do not handle, e.g. furniture, white goods, etc. Until that fateful day, collection used to be free. One rang up the council, told them what needed collecting from where, put it out and waited. It did eventually disappear.
Since the introduction of the charge, the streets, open spaces and patches of wasteland have sprouted a profusion of old televisions, kitchen appliances, sofas, armchairs and beds. Even the council itself has admitted the streets have got messier since the charge’s introduction.
Moreover, since the summer Bristolians have been grappling with the complexities of the new waste collection arrangements. Refuse collections are now fortnightly, whilst recycling collections – 2 in number – take place weekly on the same day. Even educated to degree level as I am, it took me some time to work out the complexities of the new system; I dread to think how those for whom English is not a first language are coping, but can imagine they’re not. Added to the mix of old appliances and furniture, we now have full black rubbish bags littering the streets and open space. On the pavements, it’s a real assault course – 3 bins per household now jostling for pavement space with all the parked cars. No wonder pedestrians use the roadway!
As a slight aside, I met my old friend and fellow Bearded Fiend Boris last night, recently returned from New Zealand. He reckons Bristol is the filthiest place he’s seen on all his travels. Visitors to Bristol concur too, with regular admonitory correspondence gracing the pages of the Pest.
By now any sensible council would be having a rethink of its arrangements in the light of the above, but I seriously doubt whether there’s any sense in the Counts Louse.
