'IS NOT MY GARBAGE FINE?'

(An edited version of this article was published in the 'Heckler' section of the Sydney Morning Herald on 9 March, 2005)

'Is not my garbage fine?' (a catch-cry of a character from the Judge Dredd comic strip) has become my own mantra come the quarterly council 'clean up'.

I used to look forward to these occasions, but that was in the days when you could just plonk your unneeded items the nature strip. There was no need to delineate between categories of rubbish nor to engage a feng shui expert before undertaking the task.

That has now, unfortunately, changed. The council informs us in advance of what they will and will not accept, and specifies how the former items are to be placed. Rather than being greeted by urban rebellion, such a change appears to have been embraced by the community.

There presently sits, within 300 metres of my home, a pile of unwanted goods, so beautifully wrapped that they would complement the David Jones Christmas window.

What becomes of those of us who are devoid of artistic talent and cannot afford an exterior designer to fashion our rubbish. I have enough trouble in my day to day life. Fit me out in a $2,000 designer suit and within 2 minutes, absent physical exertion on my part, I will appear to be kitted out in a set of unwashed, unironed boiler maker's overalls. If I cannot keep things of quality and class appropriately, how can I be expected to organise my garbage.

So I travel up and down my street, observing the symmetry of garden trimmings and sawn trees, wondering how I can achieve a similar effect with all my packets of rain affected heat beads and various lengths of dog-chewed garden hose.

It is not just the manner of display that concerns me - the quality of the rubbish itself is equally distressing. I have long ago abandoned the concept of putting out the 'clean up' early so that the dealers and Steptoes can pick it up before the Council. Despite my best efforts, rag and bonemen don't like my rubbish. It can't just be explained by my lack of presentation.

On one occasion interest was shown. Unfortunately, my guarantee that the television, which was available to be taken away at no charge, did in fact work was insufficient for the potential donee. He required to be invited inside for a test run. In hindsight, my response could arguably have been more gracious.

And there was the time that I put in a real effort. I had cleared the garage of most of the unnecessary items, and, to the limits of my ability, installed them in an appealing and artistic fashion. I had even brought down the recently purchased vacuum cleaner to give the now visible garage floor the once over. Having completed that task I went back inside for a well deserved cup of coffee and to await the influx of potential removers of my handiwork.

A car stopped, its driver alighted, searched my pile and found something worth taking away. I casually sauntered out, curious as to which item had attracted his favour. A cursory glance at the pile revealed nothing missing, save for the newly purchased vacuum cleaner which I had forgotten to take back inside. To compound matters, in my attempt to give chase, I tried to hurdle the wonderful exhibit that I had constructed, only for a length of dog-chewed garden hose to wrap around my ankle. I fell, causing the structure as a whole to crash down resulting in an appearance of ......well, a pile of garbage really.