Saturday, 18 June 2011


a sad torn-up cookie box littering our front lawn
calls me defiantly to action
i hold the bin bag
while woodle brandishes the litter picker
our progress along the road is slow
garden lawns and gutter are strewn with
empty cigarette boxes
packing tape
spastic drinks bottles
crushed cans
candy rappers
carrier bags
baby wipes
pizza boxes
turning the corner
we amble through a bizarre world of angular legoland houses
then turn into millenium wood
i tell woodle how it was planted when she was minus three
this makes her giggle
we descend the steep log steps
and emerge into the long meadow
here the litter dries up
replaced by copious piles of dogshit
miraculously not a single building spoils this vista
legoland or otherwise
woodle gets a couple of minutes in the kiddies' playground
before a noisy band of older kids turn up
and she asks to leave
as we turn back into our road
we complete our litter haul
with a broken umbrella
and a deflated football
well done woodle!

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