At a very pleasant party last night (thanks everybody) we got to talking about things in the way only post-dinner, middle class dinner party people do. The subject of recycling came up. Today is recycling day. I have proudly placed on my drive two boxes of cans and bottles, a box of printed card, a box of paper and a bag of old textiles along with half a black bin-liner of actual rubbish. Our local Authority, on the basis of this sample of one, are right to go to a fortnightly rubbish collection and a weekly recycling and food waste call.
But I reckon one of the new moments of the Noughties for me is to be standing in my garage at 7.00 a.m. every other Thursday scratching my head. The garages here have long since ceased to be containers for vehicles. Here you will find washing machines, freezers, tools, decorating materials and a small recycling centre.
So I am staring at a piece of cardboard, now folded flat, trying to decide if it is corrugated or printed. If it is corrugated it goes in the green waste next week but will be rejected if it is too heavily printed. If it is printed card it goes in today's recycling but will be rejected if it is corrugated.
Was this what the writers of the Genesis story of our creation had in mind when they asked humans to be stewards of the earth? Probably it was.
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