In the Grumbler houshold, the inevitable result of Christmas, coupled with the January sales, is a mountain of refuse which may be recyclable (Cardboard, boxes, wrapping paper) or not (plastic bags and expanded poly-bloody-styrene).
All of this stuff needs to be carted to the local refuse centre - even if the bin-men could be bribed to take it away, you don't want to leave a pile of boxes outside your front door which advertise what presents you got. Imagine the neighbours trying to work out what exactly you're going to do with 25 gallons of custard in catering packs and a wetsuit?
So, I piled all the rubbish into the back of the car on not one, two or even three occasions. No less than four times was I forced to patronise the 'dump'. Our own facility has a height restriction set at about 3 feet six inches to prevent anyone coming in with a van because that would be 'trade refuse' and a bunch of yellow jacketed, power-crazed 'assistants' who are there to ensure that everything is put in the appropriate recycling area.
So, despite the minor feeling of triumph I'll have experienced after having Limboed in, avoided the rabid free-range council-sponsored eco-mentalists and manoeuvred myself to the 'devil-may-care, bung it all over this wall, I love landfill' section of the facility, at some point on one of these trips I have managed to scoop up and throw away with the rest of the crap one of my perfectly good, nicely broken-in hiking boots - kept in the back of the car for dog walking expeditions.
As I remember it, this was a £150 pair of boots, meaning that trip has cost me £75, dammit. Obviously, this is some kind of karmic retribution to my gleefully hubristic gloating over outsmarting 'Stig of the Dump' and his mates.
Oh well, there's nothing I can do other than make the best of the situation. Later this year I intend to take the family on a hopping holiday in the lake district. If anyone has any recommendations, lemme know?