18 december 2011, every loser bins

Brits have something of an obsession with bins, a symbol of schizophrenia between localism and rule by stalinist decree. When I moved to germany ten years ago, I was stunned both by the efficiency of domestic recycling, and that everybody, rich or poor, divided absolutely everything into the allotted four bins. Back in stockport, things have moved on. We also now have 3 recycling bins, and a black one, half the size, for everything else. The latter, to whitehall consternation, only gets emptied fortnightly. Central government's sensitivity to bins dates back to the winter of discontent in 1979, with its iconic images of the unburied dead and unemptied bins that did in what was left of the labour government, and spurred margaret thatcher's era-defining election. Unnoticed by the mass media, there were echoes of those scenes on the streets of heald green this week. By unhappy coincidence the recent national public sector strike fell on black bin day. So a week later, the black bins, full at the best of times, were overflowing, and a great many people presumed the rota would be changed and put them out with the rest. It wasn't, and that night was very windy, and so the week after that saw the desolate scenes, of bins in the road, rubbish swirling and litter the likes I haven't seen for years piling up in corners and against kerbs. It was though, an amazing contrast. I live on a pristine cul-de-sac of mainly well-to-do bungalows. At the end of the road is a narrow cut-through (I think they call it a ginnel), at the other end of which is what was a council estate. Before 1974 our side was cheshire, the other was manchester. It's now a few low-rise tenements and ex-council houses, done up over time with new porches, doors and drives. On this side, the bins were wheeled back in on the wednesday night, to patiently wait another week; where an animal (a cat, or maybe a fox) had ripped an overflowing black bag, it was neatly tidied up. It was on the other side, that I cycle through every day, I saw the echoes of desolation and concert aftermath. In fairness, it peaked after a few days, and when the bins were finally emptied it quickly got back to its also-pristine norm, but I did find those few days telling, something I think about personal responsibility diluted both by reliance on public services and sharing amenities. My children don't notice any difference at all between the two ends of the alley, but I do wonder if they will one day soon.