It’s flavour of the month over dinner but talking rubbish wears thin

Just recently, however, this social worm has turned, appropriately enough thanks to a bug. Though it might be cherished by a certain type of coarse fisherman, your average maggot is hardly a beauty to behold. Certainly, not to the discerning eyes of the dustbin men – sorry, environmental executives – operating within our postal code area, one of whom (executive) was disgusted by finding one of them (maggot) perched high, wide and not terribly handsome beneath the lid of a green wheelie-bin a couple of months ago.

Whatever else you might think about this particular example of the wonders of diversity, it has to be said that the maggot is undeniably a natural-born recycler. It will busily chomp through pretty much any manner of detritus thrown its way: a micro-waste recovery organism operating at umpteen times its own body weight. Nevertheless, having duly invoked the patron saint of health and safety – and with a nice turn of irony here – bin, contents and maggot were denied onward passage to the tip. The local newspaper had a field day with the whole grubby business. Said group of friends has talked nothing but rubbish ever since – mostly to me.

As far as they’re concerned, when it comes to the disposal of what into where, I’m suddenly not just King by name but one-eyed man – and zealous propagandist to boot – by nature. There was a dinner party where I held court, right through to the cheese and biscuits, on the shameful way in which plastic bags were so unjustly persecuted. There was a trip to the Ricoh Stadium where any action on the pitch was entirely sidelined by a heated debate on the pros and cons of biodegradables.

But boy, does being the font of all wisdom rapidly pall. Don’t wish too hard for what you want. Carole Bayer Sager, you never spoke truer words. Having initially blossomed via the nourishment of such unexpected attention, I’m about ready for the green wheelie-bin myself. If anyone asks me yet again to explain why a milk bottle is recyclable but a flexible film bag isn’t, then I’m going to have to change my name, my mates and move house.

Less drastically, we’re off on holiday instead. Hopefully, by the time we get back, all of this freshly converted fervour about how to manage redundant packaging will have lapsed. Bring it on: then I can revert back to having to be driven home from dinner parties rather than soberly lecturing my way through them.

Des King is a freelance journalist specialising in packaging. He can be contacted by email at packagingnews.editorial@haymarket.com

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