I get dressed up to put the bins out. You've got to make an effort if you live on Rum They warned me that island time was not something to scoff at. And in the 25 minutes it takes me to take out the bins on Rum, I understand now. There’s no quick wheelie bin trip to the end of the driveway, no noisy collection in the wee hours. There’s just me, my car, and the bumpy road to the skips at the pier.
They warned me that island time was not something to scoff at. And in the 25 minutes it takes me to put out the bins, I understand it now.
It’s not an exaggeration. There’s no quick wheelie bin trip to the end of the driveway, no noisy collection in the wee hours. There’s just me, my car, and the bumpy road to the skips at the pier.
I haven't had an excuse to get dressed up for much since moving here, but for the bins, I make an exception. Wellies on, waterproof trousers zipped, tattered hoodie pulled tight under a mucky jacket. And the gloves - I can’t forget the gloves.
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The bin bags are piled high in the boot of the car, atop banana boxes to contain any unsightly escapees. The recycling goes in the back seat -........
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