They are building the bonfire already. In the dip where winter flooding sometimes creates a small lake, the wood and branches are being piled.
A massive board has been nailed up announcing that ‘No More Material Is Required. By Order of The Bonfire Association.’ Therefore: ‘No Dumping.’
But someone has dared to disobey the order of the Bonfire Association, and has heaved an old blue sofa into the hollow.
This has sparked an inquiry. While cycling the spaniels, I overheard a group of ladies stopped on the pathway overlooking the immolation site discussing what should be done.
The organisers are aware. They will be dealing with it. The culprits ought to be ashamed of themselves, for when certain sofas burn they emit toxic fumes.
I ought to be ashamed of myself too, I realise, because when I cycled past the site and saw the lumpy old sofa I felt mildly cheered up and thought, ‘Oh look, someone’s dumped an old sofa.’
Now I think about it, the episode has made me feel deeply inadequate. I wish I could attain a degree of normality in my affairs so I could become outraged by a dumped sofa. When I look at a dumped sofa, the only conclusion of any significance I can find it within myself to draw is that some other poor sod is under so much pressure they’ve heaved a sofa out here in the dark in a desperate bid to get a part of their life straight, and, let’s face it, because otherwise it’s £300 for a skip or dumper truck and if you hire a van to take an old sofa to the tip they will weigh it in and charge you more than a desperate person probably earns in a month.
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