In praise of bin men

I’ve always had a soft spot for bin men – or refuse collectors as we generally call them these days. It used to be dustmen, as I remember from the song by Lonnie Donegan in my infancy: ‘Oh, my old man’s a dust man/He wears a dust man’s hat/He wears “cor blimey” trousers/And he lives in a council flat!’ Donegan made it sound a jolly business, but being a bin man is no picnic. The first in this country were recorded in the 1350s as ‘rakers’ and their presence coincided with the plague. It’s one of the most hazardous jobs around, probably more so than being a policeman. But then, the way the police swerve actual crime in favour of thought-crime these days, being a florist is probably more dangerous than being a policeman. Bin men routinely risk injuries from broken glass, medical waste and caustic chemicals, as well as those which come from working with heavy machinery and in close proximity to traffic.

Because of this I find them somewhat heroic, which is why I automatically took their side in the current contretemps between them and Brighton & Hove council.