…..the East European supervisor descended on me as he might a Russian Boy Scout who’d failed his Map Reading Badge!

Down in East Wittering, just a few hundred yards from our home, we benefit from a mobile Re-cycling Centre every other Thursday. When we moved here just eight years ago this would be visited by a stream of old gaffers with heavily loaded wheelbarrows – alas – no more! In these Enviromentally and Ecologically aware times some little prick in the local council had decreed they can now only be visited by a motor vehicle.

I fell foul of this amusing edict a week ago. Having just a couple of old saucepans to dispose of (I must stop letting the buggers burn dry!) and not wanting to join the vehicular melee I parked up in the the area of the car park adjacent to the visiting tip and walked twenty feet across the grass. Good grief!

‘Give a prole a peaked cap!’

The East European supervisor (in his mid-twenties maybe?) descended on me as he might a Russian Boy Scout who’d failed his Map Reading Badge! Officious barely covers it – he was apopleptic. My stroll across the grass had, apparently, contravened all manner of local authority vehicle control regulations rendering both he, and I, liable to a fine of £1500. Did I want that? Did I? I regret to say I laughed – which did little to lessen his outrage. I told him I didn’t give a toss about his rules and regulations and had no intention of walking back and returning in my car in as we were standing just twenty feet away from the container into which I intended to lob my saucepans – this I proceeded to do. He may have calmed down by now – frankly I don’t give a monkeys.

Somewhere in the Chichester District Council offices there is a dickless wonder who is, no doubt, very proud of the day he he came up with that piece of statutary shite. Frankly I hope his bollocks fester and come up under his armpits :-

“Should’ve put that in the garden waste, mate”

 Reminds me of another piece of waste disposal garbage that occured some years ago. We were at Coles* at the time and Ruth got the call at about eight one evening that her father was likely to pass away at any time.

Knowing we’d be away a few days she grabbed a bunch of flowers which had already passed their best (and no, not to take with us – Sheesh!) and stuffed them into the top of the rubbish bin as we sped off up to Cambridgeshire.

That bin stayed unemptied for four weeks. It transpired the council hadn’t emptied it because the flowers in the top “should have gone in the garden waste bin”. Now Coles didn’t have such a bin – Coles, with it’s 26 acres of landscaped garden, recycled tons, quite literally tons, of garden waste every year! Had we not been in such a rush it would undoubtedly have accomodated our flowers also.

There is a saying exemplifying this type of behaviour that I remember from my younger days as a police officer “Give a prol a peaked cap!” We used it to describe the more eager and enthusiastic type of copper. ‘If the cap fits’ I guess. 😀 **

Yep – the under the armpits curse again 🙂

Innocent until proven guilty – except in Sainsbury’s

The Re-cycling Centre incident occured just a day after I’d managed a melt down of my own in, of all places, Sainsbury’s.

Having been in with Ruth and done a very small shop, you know, the things we can’t pick up in Lidl or Aldi for half the price, we went through the Self-Checkout. Imagine my horror to discover a barrier preventing me from leaving – unless I scanned my receipt!

Off I went in search of the manager. To be fair he was very apologetic and explained that the store had suffered over a million pounds worth of thefts in the last year which they were desperate to reduce, and the area in front of the barrier was bristling with secret technology the nature of which he couldn’t disclose! What, like passives to detect un-scanned merchandise? For God’s sake – it’s not rocket science. .

Understandable I’m sure, but how dare Sainsbury’s attempt to deprive me of my liberty. They are at theirs to stop me entering but they must not be allowed to prevent me leaving of my own free will. There are, and always have been, passives at the store exit – and I’ve yet to see security stop anyone who’s triggered the alarms – not once!

I saw as I left notices at the entrance (a shame I didn’t see them going in) telling shoppers of the new system. This presumeably negates the usual shopper/store contract and removes any possibility of a civil action for wrongful detention – hopefully one of the Civil Liberties organisations will run with this. I ask you – what’s the country coming to? Don’t trouble to answer that – I know full well. There was a time I used to be proud to be British – now I’m ashamed.

Sorry Gramps…

 You know, back when I was fifteen or so my aged maternal Grandfather came to stay for a while before Mum and Dad managed to get him banged-up in a care home. He was suffering from senile dementia – it rather suited him – but I remember vividly his reaction to Jimi Hendrix!

I may, of course, have misunderstood him. There is a possibility his waving his stick at me whilst yelling, at the top of his voice, “Rah, rah, rah!” actually showed his appreciation of Hendrix’s fuzz distortion and wah-wah – I can’t be sure – but at the time I was outraged.  I’m now starting to understand where he was coming from.

I can’t shake off this feeling that life is ceasing to amuse, excite or inspire, that I have simply lived too long. Now don’t get me wrong – I’m in no rush to shake off this mortal coil just yet – not least because Ruth (for reasons best known to herself) insists she’d miss me. I also take a perverse pride in my not looking, feeling, or behaving anywhere near my my age (grumpiness not withstanding) but still there’s this nagging little feeling at the back of my mind – know what I mean?

I’ll leave you with a quote from Alejandro Jodorowsky. I suggest you meditate on it, and having done so tell me if you’re not ever so slightly of the same mind 🙂

“Birds born in a cage think flying is an illness.”

Pip, pip.


* ‘Coles’ was a very minor country house, up in the Hampshire highlands, mid-way between Petersfield and Winchester. Ruth and I had the pleasure of ‘house sitting’ the property for nearly ten years. A millionaire lifestyle when we didn’t have a pot to piss in 😀 How lucky were we.

In case you fancy a little more this is a Coles related blog from years back (they were shorter then :-D) https://www.stevebonner.com/sudden-death-in-the-hampshire-wood/

** I’m reminded of an incident a few years ago when a policeman, on duty at Downing Street, was foolhardy enough to tell a Member of Parliament to get off his push bike and not cycle through the gate. Said politician, full of righteous indignation, called the copper a ‘pleb’ or perhaps it was ‘prol’ – I forget, one of the two, the meaning is the same.

Two points here. Firstly, when a copper myself and had I been on that duty, I’m damn sure my standing orders would have been to avoid confrontation with a serving member at all costs.

This obviously wasn’t applied here, and of course the incident rapidly blew up out of all proportion. The Police Federation (ever eager for an opportunity to show Britain is no longer a free country but a police state) waded in, in defence of our sadly abused plod, with both booted feet.

Now here’s the curious bit – Prols (proletariate) and plebs (plebian) are both terms for non-patricians, for the underclass of the city state – those born to serve. Our member of Parliament is, for his tenure at least, definately Patrician. Plod, by his very job title, ‘policeman’ or ‘polis-man’ (man of the city state), is obviously a servant of that city state – a pleb if there ever was one! So why the bloody fuss? The MP should have just called him an officious little prick! In the light of his subsequent behaviour far more appropriate in my view – and he’d have had something worth whingeing about.

Thanks for reading,

Pip, pip



#westwittering #eastwittering #chichesterdistrictcouncilrecycling #sainsburys