mission impossible

Being pro green doesnt mean i suddenly develop an amazing memory infact i cant be terribly scatty at times for such an organized person. Take this morning, plodding my way down the stairs stifling a yawn, tripping over my giant sized pyjama legs as i go i heard an all too familiar clinking and crashing sound coming from the next street THE RECYCLERS!! Now i do recycle as you know and i’m rather good i separate things into correct boxes, well i call them boxes but after the asda van merrily rolled over mine some time ago i find i’ve had to improvise and now have a strange assortment of crates and bags in which to put everything. What i am terrible at is remembering to put the darned things out before i go to work and im usually gone by 7am when the big recycling orchestra comes tinkling and clanking down my street, but not today. Oh no not today!! I actually stopped at the bottom of the stairs and said RECYCLERS!!! to myself before tripping out of the back doors, pivoting in the garden and flying back though for the garage key, standing on a most indignant cat waiting for his breakfast as i went. Now Tom Cruise would’ve recruited me on the spot here as i scaled the contents of the garage before sliding over a mattress and landing in a heap next to a pile of empty kitekat tins. Anything guaranteed to put you off breakfast is the faint aroma of long used sardines and the nauseating waft of turkey and duck in tantalising jelly. Yes not so tantalising at 7am when your bum is on a cold stone floor and your nose is inches from the nearest tin can!! So rescuing my butt from the floor i carefully opened the garage door halfway hissing at it to HUSH as it screeched gleefully on its hinges,announcing to all in earshot that i was about to emerge.In my best mission impossible style i peered under the door making sure the recyclers werent standing at the end of my drive arms akimbo, tapping one foot in a ‘what do we have here’ manner, grabbed the nearest crate, limboed under the door and hurtled down the drive trying to reach the end  before some man in yellow caught me crate in hand displaying all my guilt. Of course it had to be wet so there am i, crate loudly going clinky clanky, socks going splishy splashy and praying madly that i didnt trip over my trouser legs before i reached my destination and avoid further embarrassment. I confess i must’ve looked a comical sight in giant pyjamas stumbling furtively up and down the drive before diving under the safety of the garage door, doing a quick reconnaissance before emerging with the next load to be hurriedly deposited with the rest. I think once the pile grew to the size of a small armchair i had to abandon the mission and plodge at speed back into the house, once again standing on a most disgruntled cat before hiding behind the curtains to watch and see if the recycling mountain was disposed of by the lovely men in yellow. My guilt forces me to confess they really didnt look impressed and i had to duck from several glances towards the house but eventually the wagon rolled away somewhat more weighty than before and i breathed a sigh of relief and vowed to put out the boxes more often and avoid another mission impossible

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