I look out of the kitchen window while stood at the sink, a half-clean mug in my hands. The rubbish collector moves along the street, pausing regularly to grab the next bin at the street edge with its giant paw and tip the contents into its mouth. The rubbish is pre-digested by microbial matter lining the bin's guts so the scene looks like the unholy union between a giant iguana and a woolly mammoth enjoying a can of coke.
My brain kicks in. No, it tells me. Rubbish is collected by trucks, with men hooking the bin to a lifting arm which tips it into the compactor. Shut up, I tell it. That was a long time ago. Things are different now. I go back to making my cup of tea.