Hey, do you mind if I stick this in your bin? Mine is full to the brim.
I waved a rubbish bag full of stuff at my neighbour, Pootenanny, who was manhandling a spade at his front lawn as if he were threatening one of those German people who come to your door selling potatoes.
Sorry?
Barked Pootenanny glaring over at me as he tipped his spade shovel down on his scabby lawn and leant on it.
You mind if I stick this in your bin? Mine is full and they are collecting tomorrow.
I nodded my head over a Pootenanny's bin which lurked sullenly outside his gate.
My bin? You want to put your rubbish in my bin?
Pootenanny asked waspishly, as if he suspected that it really had been me that had thrown a a dead seagull over his side of the fence in the dead of night last summer.
(In my defense, it was chock full of maggots and was giving me the heebs.)
Yes, please. You know the rubbish collections are all fucked just now with lockdown and my bin is full to bursting.
I gave him some buttery sex eyes and threw in a chummy tip of the head as well.
No can do. My bin is also full to the brim.
Pootenanny harrumphed peevishly.
There was a lengthy pause.
I think your bin is only half full? You would really be doing me a favour.
I made a quimmish face at him and blinked like a rabbit spinning on a dough hook.
I beg your pardon?
Pootenanny glowered at me.
I think there is space in your bin..?
I smiled ingratiatingly.
How would you know how much space is in my bin?
Asked Pootenanny slowly as if poking his toe at the briny crust around an Irish lady's bahjina that had been left out in the sun.
His accusing gaze flicked from me, to his bin and back to me so rapidly that I worried he was watching tennis on a screen I could not see.
I looked?
I said, shrugging my shoulders.
Pootenanny staggered back slightly like a big dog with hangy slobbers was jumping at him.
You looked in my bin. What the fuck were you doing, looking in my bin?!
He looked mad. Furious mad, as if I had actually announced that I had gleefully masturbated his Golden Retriever into a cup and sold the contents to a trans person called Isto on the internet.
I was seeing if it had space for my bag of shitty rubbish.
I said with a slight edge to my tone.
Well, it doesn't and kindly do not tamper with my bins in future.
Pootenanny huffed and turned his back on me, pretending to do some gardening.
I rolled my eyes and headed back into my own house.
Oh hey, didn't John let you dump our stuff in his bin?
Asked the Good Lady.
I dumped the bag down.
I frowned, before answering with a sentence I thought I would never have to say again.
No, fuck him. He's getting another dead seagull.
