Wombling

 I was up at 6.20 this morning, having woken with the urge to have a womble and do a litter pick along the stretch of road ‘pon which I live. I did my usual morning chores first - fed Bambino and cleaned out his litter tray, let out the hens and fed them, avoided collision with a cockerel dismounting wildly from high up a tree, the usual stuff...

...and by 6.40 a.m I was on the road with a bin bag, a litter picker and pair of gardening gloves in case I found anything truly disgusting. Well, I’ve heard tales, you know, of things that the less considerate chuck from their vehicle windows. 

This is the view on emerging from our driveway...

Ignore the recently installed 50 miles an hour signage. Most people do. And this is the view from our driveway of the length of road leading to the dog leg bend to where I litter picked. You can just see the black and white chevron road signs, where the tree and hedge line ends (in the middle of the photo), which mark the bend. It is about a quarter of a mile. Probably a bit less. 

Anyway, I set off at 6.40. Got back at 7.10. I would have carried on but within half an hour my bin bag was full and in danger of bursting as I carried it home...

I litter picked up one side of the road and about half way back down the other before the bag became close to breaking point; I did not want a bin bag explosion to occur on a public highway especially as I’d just cleaned up that very space. That, my friends, would have been annoying beyond belief and would likely have elicited some choice, and very unladylike, expletives.

The litter consists of, unsurprisingly, mostly plastic bottles, beer and ‘energy’ drinks cans (energy drinks - pah!), crisp packets, milk shake cartons and MuckDonald’s crap. There were also yogurt pots, tin foil, clingfilm, plastic bags, sweet wrappers, cigarette packets, a couple of bits that looked like they had fallen off a tractor (adding undue weight to the bin bag), some random foam-type packaging material, cable ties and a single face mask of the disposable variety.

I was a child of the ‘Keep Britain Tidy’ campaign back in the 1970s. It was ingrained in me that you didn’t throw ANY rubbish onto the ground or out of the car window unless it was an apple core which is compostable and might make a nice treat for a passing hedgehog. All rubbish was to be taken home and disposed of properly. Littering was frowned upon, and quite right, too. 

And I grew up with the Wombles, too...

My favourite was Orinoco (second from the right - big floppy hat) although I did have a soft spot for Tomsk, especially in the episode when he was trying to climb into a hammock! I also learned the valuable lesson from Madame Cholet to NEVER eat a buttercup crumpet when it is still hot from the oven. I digress...

The Wombles lived in a lovely, homely, underground burrow. I liked the idea of living in an underground house. Still do, actually. Something about feeling hugged by the Earth. Perhaps I’m part Hobbit? Who knows? Anyway, if it was good enough for the Wombles, it was good enough for me. I liked their ethos. They were the eco-warriors of their time, doing that simple task of tidying up rubbish and, in doing so, showing respect to our precious natural world, because without our natural world, we don’t survive. Fact. 

So I still don’t understand those legions of people who think it is okay to litter our land. I really, really don’t. It is even more puzzling given that the two generations following mine have apparently been educated in all things regarding recycling and saving our planet, so they should know better. A pet hate, as a teacher, was doing endless environmental education with pupils, and yet if I asked one to pick up some rubbish they had thrown onto the floor, the response would often be, ‘Why? That’s what the cleaners are for.’ Seriously, I despaired. Just goes to show you can’t take the stupid out of some people, no matter how hard you try.

I shall make a regular habit of litter picking my stretch of road. If I do it, say once a week, it should  keep the amount down to maybe a carrier bag full each time? Even less? Maybe the people who race pass me as I am wombling with my bin bag and litter picker will think, ‘There’s someone doing something good for the world - perhaps I’ll do the same.’ There is a theory called the One Hundreth Monkey Theory. That once one hundred members of a group exhibit a certain behaviour it spreads to other groups. Worth a try, isn’t it? 

Or at least maybe they will think twice about whanging that Red Bull can from their window and popping it into their home recycling bin instead. The human driving their car/van/tractor, that is. Not the monkey. Monkeys can’t drive. They have more respect for our world.