I am in the midst of a difficult separation. They say moving house and divorce are among the most traumatic experiences a person can endure. Up to this I tended to see that observation as more entertaining than profound.
Now, I know differently.
It began with the usual silly (at my age) infatuation. We would save the world together. Commitment was total as we picked through the flotsam and jetsam, the detritus of ordinary life, in that heightened state where everything else seemed so banal beside us two aflame.
It was probably the hair dryer which brought it to a head. Or rather the thought of it. That was when I realised "this is becoming totally ridiculous". Yes, I felt like that Peter Finch character in the 1976 film Network, and repeated: "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!"
It was the hectoring tone what dun it. The “EVERYTHING going into the green bin MUST BE CLEAR AND DRY”. That was when I wondered about the hair dryer – to ensure all was dry as well as clean.
It was then I told myself: “this has gone too far”.
And “no bags!” “EVERYTHING going into the green bin MUST BE PUT IN LOOSELY IE NOT IN BAGS”. “SOFT PLASTICS – plastic wrap, plastic bags, cling film etc are NOT RECYCLABLE and should go in the black bin.”
Around then I felt my feelings drifting towards the less-particular, less-fussy, less-demanding, more-accommodating black bin. What drove me to breaking point however was the demand that “NO glass, general refuse, food or garden waste, wet or dry waste, nappies (!), polystyrene/aero board/styrofoam, wallpaper, plastic film/bags – plastic food wrappings” should go in the green bin.
All that “. . . no, no, no . . .” No!
Instead I should just “donate” “paper, newspapers & magazines, cardboard, phonebooks & catalogues, cereal boxes (all cardboard boxes should be taken apart and folded to save space), steel food cans, aluminium drink cans, hard plastic bottles/containers which have a recycle symbol on them, Tetra Paks (juice & milk cartons)”.
Looking, carefully I realised I hardly needed a green bin at all. All that grief Lord, soon be over. It has been banished.
I’ve grown very fond of my black bin. We get on so much better.
Bin, from Old Irish benna, for "basket, manger, crib". Latin benna.
inaword@irishtimes.com
