I can never resist a trip to the rubbish dump

I was back at the tip on Sunday. I cannot help it. What art galleries or rock concerts or online porn are to some, Derby-shire County Council’s dump at Rowsley is to me. I can’t keep away. Any excuse will do, and on Sunday it was a bit of cardboard and a broken fan heater. Yes, yes, I know, they could have been saved up until there was enough rubbish to fill the bed of my old pickup truck, but … well, the stuff was already in the back and I was driving down the A6 anyway and the pull as I came within the magnetic field of this state-of-the-art recycling centre was just too much to resist. An invisible hand nudged mine into an indicate–left tweak on the lever, and we peeled off down the service road, my rubbish and I.

The place was packed with addicts. The boot of the smart BMW in front of me opened to reveal nothing but four old flower pots, and the chap emerging from the driver’s seat caught my gaze and looked guiltily away.