Part 1: A shiny new train (whoops, “loco”) crossing Broadmeadow Road. Always a cheering sight.
Part 2: A fallen blossom in a puddle.
Part 3: A washed-up Christmas bear.
Part 4: Soccer practice in Richardson Park, as sure a sign of the turning of the seasons as the disappearance of the channel-billed cuckoos.
Part 5: An odd assortment of litter from the creek.
Part 6: And, finally, Clean Up Styx Creek Day!
It was the last day of the school holidays but, in spite of my generous offer of a free Warm Inner Glow, neither of my children wanted to come down the creek and pick up other people’s crap with me. Kids these days!
Rain was forecast for tomorrow and I felt that if I didn’t do it now then this mass of rubbish would get washed away. So I took to the creek with a roll of garbage bags, a determined set to my jaw and a steely resolve. Thirteen bags later and I’ve kind of broken the back of it, or perhaps (given the number of fag ends I bent to pick up) it’s broken the back of me. I have to say that the pile of bags in the picture looks disappointingly small. I thought it would add up to a tiny mountain.
The following is a short list of things I learned about litter:
- There are more fag ends in the world than there are sheep in New Zealand.
- There are nearly as many of those squishy little ear plug things as there are fag ends.
- Our city’s junkies are a conscientious bunch: every one of the syringes I found had been carefully capped. Thank you!
- It’s easier to pick up the big things than the little things.
- But you must pick up the big things because, if left, they break down into little things. This is particularly the case with polystyrene: after three hours my arms were covered in sticky little white balls of the stuff.
Tomorrow I might just take a carrier bag and focus on the eighty-six gazillion fag ends I missed today. And get me one of those picky-uppy things that real litter people use.