It's wheelie disappeared....

As I recover from my latest domestic crisis - The Great Boiler Debacle - I begin (albeit still boilerless) to relax, but no - the fickle finger of Fate figures it’s time to point my way again. What catastrophe has befallen me this time? My wheelie bin goes AWOL.....

My personal theory is that it has been abducted by aliens in order to analyse the wasteful habits of earthlings, but I have to reluctantly accept that it is more likely to have been pinched by local scum for reasons best known to themselves - perhaps to conduct wheelie bin Grand Prix? Indignant and binless, I phone my local council (Wheelie Bin Division) to request a replacement but am told I will have to wait, as they currently have none in stock. Quelle horreur - I will have to use BIN BAGS in the interim!!! Oh, the shame...

Two days later, I receive a phone call from the council who inform me that I should have been told that I would NOT be supplied with a new wheelie bin until I furnished them with a Crime Reference Number from the local constabulary. My high-pitched squeak of astonishment attracts dogs from all over the neighbourhood and I do a passable impersonation of John MacEnroe: “You cannot be serious???” Apparently they are, and I am left with no choice but to bother the boys in blue with my trashcan trivialities.

Against my better judgement, I ring my local nick using the number which is on speed-dial on my phone, having had cause to contact the rozzers on one or two occasions in the past. Bad neighbourhood... say no more. I begin my tale of woe, but am interrupted by the female officer on the other end of the phone who demands to know where I got this number as it’s ex-directory! I pick my jaw up off the floor, am given another number to dial and promise to delete the first one from my phone. I try again, and endure an eternity of finger-drumming tedium whilst a recorded voice tells me not to leave my belongings on display in my car. FINALLY, a cheery Scots lady answers and is somewhat taken aback when I tell her apologetically that I have rung (as per instructions from the council) to report my wheelie bin is missing. Despite the inconsequential nature of the ‘offence’, she is obliged to go through the motions so I can get the Crime No. We both get the giggles as she goes through the standard list of silly questions the police are obliged to ask: “When did you last see your bin?”... “Do you class yourself as white-British?”...”Is there CCTV in the area?” Being an old hand at this by now, I dare her to ask me how tall I am (they usually do!) and she laughs almost as much as me, but then sends me completely over the edge and into full-blown hysterical cackles as she asks me somewhat sheepishly if I require counselling after suffering such a loss....

Weeping with laughter, I pull myself together sufficiently to decline her kind offer, but dissolve into wheezing giggles again as I ask out of interest what would happen if I said yes..... Trying desperately not to laugh, the nice police lady assures me they would have to send someone round to talk me through my traumatic ordeal.... All daft questions completed, I apologise once again for having had to trouble the constabulary with such a ridiculous matter, thank her for giving me the best laugh I’ve had in months, and ring off, clutching the precious number required by the Jobsworth at the council.

It takes me a good five minutes to regain sufficient composure to ring the council with the information they demanded, and this call is far less entertaining! The woman at the council offices is in no mood for my rapier-like wit and all but snaps at me for not taking the matter seriously, but at last the order for my new wheelie bin can be processed, and I sit back to await the next domestic disaster.....