I don’t often get really cross about things, but yesterday morning at 9.30am I was furious.
I was on my way out for a run* and before I left the house I put out our Christmas tree for collection, along with the recycling. I did it just in time as a couple of minutes later one of the men from the special Christmas tree truck came into our square. He was clearly on the prowl, looking out for trees.
Our house is one of the most visible in the square. It’s called a square, but it’s more like a long cul-de-sac really. As you turn the corner into it our house is at the far end, so it and the tree can be seen very easily. I could see two or three other trees just from where I stood at the door to our house as well.
Now last year we had a few problems with our tree collection, namely that it didn’t happen, despite several calls to Bristol County Council, so I was pleased to see them making the effort this year. I stood and watched as the truck came backwards into the square.
About half way in there is a kink in the road, and obviously the driver was completely hopeless as this seemed to fox him completely. A couple of the men got out to have a look, decided it was impossible, (despite the regular bin men and recycling truck managing it easily on a weekly basis), got back in the truck and drove off.
Initially I gave them the benefit of the doubt, thinking they might be going to turn around and come in forwards. Ours trees were practically within spitting distance after all – it would have only taken a couple of minutes for someone just to grab them and chuck them in the truck where it stood.
I followed them.
They turned back out onto the main road, but rather than turn around, they started to drive off.
I chased them.
One of the bin men got out to pick up some trees at the side of the road.
“Excuse me” I said, sounding rather pompous but feeling scared, “you are going to come back for the trees in Harwood Square aren’t you?”
The bin man visibly sagged and looked annoyed.
“There weren’t any there,” he said, lying through his teeth.
“Yes there were,” I said, getting cross, “mine was there and there were at least two others.”
“Well I didn’t see any,” lied the bin man again, starting to get my goat.
“Yes you did, you just walked around the square and looked at them all, they were right there in front of you.”
The bin man sighed heavily.
“Fine,” he said, “I guess we’ll have to go back then,” as though it was entirely my fault for not just shutting up.
“Please do.” I said, sounding more and more like Penelope Keith in To The Manor Born, and I strode off, trying to look authoritative.
I then spent about half an hour complaining to my running buddy about the inefficiency of the bin men, in an aged Tory way. It was all very unflattering.
Am I being unreasonable to be so cross about being lied to by a bin man?
*Honestly I was. I’m not even kidding.