Super, Smashing, Great!
My neighbour, who for anonymity purposes I’ll give the alias Mike, kindly lent me his brown bin earlier to dispose of my excess garden rubbish. Luckily for me, as my bin was already choca-block with vine cuttings, he hadn’t utilised this receptacle for horticultural garbage recently.
Due to it’s weight, wheeling the bin around to chez Strachan was a heck of a strain causing me to joke to my neighbour “Bloody hell! Have you got Lord Lucan in here?”
I arrived in mon jardin red of face, perspiring profusely and shocked to see Lord Lucan was actually in Mike’s bin. I politely asked his lordship to vacate the rubbish container temporarily and if it was him eating my frequently dissapating garden herbs. He mumbled “It might be.” before taking flight on a waiting horse.
I’d earlier asked my neighbour for a lend of the garbage receptacle, as I was pretty sure he wouldn’t have recently used it as per designated by Leeds city council. By that I infer that I’m pretty sure brown bins are for garden rubbish, not the furtive housing of disgraced peers of the realm.
Before I go on, Mike (who definitely isn’t called Mike or live at number 28) is a top guy and a good friend. He’s the sort of person who if hosting TV gameshow Bullseye wouldn’t gloat to a contestant “Here’s what you could have won!” after an unsuccessful attempt at the jackpot.
Instead he would place a caring arm around them, utter consoling words, before stealing their wallet from the contestants jacket!…… He’s unlikely to host Bullseye but I thought it a good analogy of the man’s caring and thoughtful nature.
The reason I knew my mate wouldn’t be using his brown bin would be that he has no requirement for it. My affable neighbour doesn’t have grass cuttings due to his novel way of keep his back lawn in trim.
There is no laborious lawn cutting for Michael, he has a far cleverer method. One that allows for procrastination not the cost for electricity, a mower or physical effort. My astute chum merely lets the grass die of old age!
This approach to gardening results in no requirement for the disposing of cuttings in the brown bin, leaving him free to utilise it as a hiding place for aristocratic fugitives from justice. Mind you, he doesn’t provide the living accommodation gratis; charging his tenant a peppercorn rent.
Mike isn’t a fan of peppercorn as it causes him to have a sneezing fit. However, in the absence of anything called a Jack Daniels rent he makes do with his payment by condiment. Thankfully for him his sensitive nose has no chance of being troubled by grass pollen.
As I pointed out earlier, Mike is a really decent guy and I don’t want to paint him as lazy, because he is anything but. Just because the amiable Leeds lad has a novel grass trimming strategy, which involves waiting for it to literally push up the daisies before expiring, doesn’t make him work shy.
Some of my best friends don’t cut their grass but they are really hard working individuals…… Actually only one friend doesn’t cut his grass and that’s Mike….. The lazy get!!
Seriously, though, the use of my friend and neighbour’s brown bin has saved me from having loads of horticultural detritus dumped on my patio until my bin is emptied. Cheers Mike, you’re a gent!
I just hope my tongue in cheek jibes in this narrative don’t affect our friendship. In particular, I would hate to think we could no longer confide in each other over a beer in the Leeds Lawn Cutters Society bar.
Through such chats I recently found out about an old relationship of Mike’s which ended because it became too complicated. Although I suppose that’s the perils you take on when dating a Rubix cube!
As Bullseye’s Jim Bowen would have said “Super, smashing, great!”