Look, here’s the thing. We are all now men in our forties. We all own houses and our houses have gardens. Our tastes have changed. We have left behind clubbing, recreational drugs and happy slapping. Our interests and pursuits now are more sedate. And it is time – in fact, I think if we’re all honest with ourselves, it is long past time – that we paid our respect to one of the great joys of middle aged life. I am talking about The Tip.
Nowadays, of course, it’s called a Household Amenity Recycling and Waste Compartmentalisation Zone, but nobody actually calls it that. I know that the council website refers to it by a long name and an acronym at least five letters long, but everyone just calls it The Tip.
What I want to know is, how good is your local tip? I’ve lived near some pretty average ones in my time but we lucked out when we bought our house. My local tip is excellent.
It doesn’t have a huge landfill next to it with seagulls constantly circling overhead, which the one near Swillington used to when I was a kid. It’s one of those little places that just has a line of massive skips and you back your car up to them, and presumably they get emptied and all the crap gets taken away somehow. But I’m willing to overlook that for three key benefits.
- Proximity. The Tip is five minutes away in the car. Discarding my worldly belongings is therefore very convenient.
- Friendliness. The Tip is staffed by four or five people who are usually having a laugh with each other and are very happy to direct you to the right place when you bring something unusual. Half the time they will do the unloading for you and wave you off with a smile. I did not know a tip could be like this.
- No queues. Previous tips I have known have involved a mile of queueing to get inside. Not round here. There’s a booking system, so you go online, book your slot, and when you turn up you get in straight away. You never wait. It’s a revelation. They should all work like this.
Filling a car with junk that’s been cluttering up the house, loft, garage or garden and then slinging it all away is one of the real highlights of middle aged life. You know it to be true, of course you do, but I have to admit I was doubting it recently, until I got home from The Tip and Kate asked whether she could come next time. So we’ll going together, because she wants to go to The Tip as well, and feel the rush of throwing all our old crap into a big skip.
Here’s to The Tip, everyone.