I have to remind myself to make drafts for everything involving writing. Some golden people can just put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and write something quickly, straight out, with no mistakes or typos, making linear sense and requiring no rewriting. I’m not one of them.
I wonder if this is what years of using word processors has done to me. They enable me to be used to making erasable mistakes and move sentences and clauses around so easily that when it comes to using ink on paper I make far more errors than I did before owning a computer. Or perhaps it’s just my funny little brain acting in not quite the normal way, as ever.
On Monday night I open the shared recycling tubs by the side of my front door to discover some fellow tenant has put plastic trays and cartons inside. Even though such items are marked with the little recycling arrow, it doesn’t necessarily mean one’s local council will recycle them, at least not yet. The only plastics currently accepted are bottles. Anything else is what the council collectors regard as ‘contamination’, resulting in the tub either being ignored, or the contents tipped into the landfill-bound van along with all the non-recyclable domestic waste. If so, all that diligent sorting by myself and the other tenants has been for naught. The details of what can and can’t be placed in the council tubs are on a leaflet I’ve pinned to the board in the shared hallway, by the taxi cards, takeaway menus and local information sheets. I had assumed everyone keen to use the tubs would read the leaflet. In this case, I sigh, it seems not.
Although I note the plastic trays and cartons, I decide to do something about it first thing in the morning, with the excuse of needing sunlight. Though it’s probably more down to my general tendency to procrastinate.
Feeling terribly worthy with that sense of being the first one in the queue, I bound out of bed at 7am, dress quickly, and write a couple of stern paper signs to affix to the tubs: ‘PLASTIC BOTTLES ONLY – SEE LEAFLET IN HALL.’
I take a reel of sticky tape, go down to the tubs, and lift the lids. The trays and cartons have gone. Someone has beaten me to it; perhaps it’s even the erring resident in question, correcting their oversight. It’s a mixed feeling: I’m pleased that other tenants are as environmentally concerned as me, but feel slightly shown up for leaving it to the next day and being trumped in the good deed contest.
But I still have my signs. So I tape one sign to a lid. It’s only now that I’m aware my text isn’t good enough. ‘Plastic bottles only’ could mean that this tub must only be reserved for plastic bottles and nothing else; no newspapers or tins or glass bottles or other perfectly recyclable materials that the council do allow. So I go back in, grab my permanent marker, go back out, and heavily underline the word ‘BOTTLES’, hoping this will improve the sense of the message.
