I’ve always thought that being a street cleaner in London must be one of the most dispiriting jobs in the whole world. Quite apart from the general unpleasantness of picking up after people, it’s the sheer pointessness of it all. I’m sure we’ve all seen some thoughtless idiot drop a wrapper yards from the nearest bin, right in the spot the sweeper has just finished cleaning. Why half of London hasn’t been brained by a broom and stuffed into the nearest litter bin (and yes, there are litter bins in London) totally escapes me.
So that probably explains why the guy in the little road-going hoover I saw the other morning was cheerfully peeling his orange and tossing the peel out of his side window as he went. At least that way he got the satisfaction of being the one to mess up his own handiwork instead of any other bugger getting to do it.