Binlife

Its bin a hard day's night!

Is there life after Bin Laden?

Is there life in a Bin?

Ich Bin Berliner!

I'm tin therefore I'm a Bin

Binlife, for those throwaway moments ..........

Returning from the wilds I felt the need of a few luxuries. passing the Bin by the Mercadona, I noticed there was a shapely, curvacious lady with a little torch shining it into the bin and talking to herself.

Nothing too odd there. In these parts as in many others, there are plenty of folk whose best means of keeping the inceasingly rapacious wolf from their door is to rummage and sell. For the most part they're professionals and carry the tools of their trade; a trolley of some sort and a long stick with a hook or handle for rummaging at length. Often they can be heard conversing with themselves. So can I for that matter. Frequently.

Coming out of the supermarket I noticed that there were suble differences with this lady. Firstly, almost the entire contents of the bin were now piled carefully alongside her in their bags. For a few moments I entertained the entertaining thought that maybe she'd genuinely lost something in the bin. The second difference was that there was definitely another voice joining in the conversation with a will. Unless she was a natural mimic with built in ventriloquist's skills there was someone in the bin. As I drew level with the bin I could see her companion in the intestines of the bin casting about. They had the curves and skin colour to be Gypsies, but the lady to the fore had a trace of Indian blood in her features, those lovely high cheekbones and huge deep brown eyes. I concentrated on the sounds and realised with the same shock as always that those Spanishy sounding words with an almost Slavic accent were Portugese. They were Brazilian. Brazilian Bin Rummagers by Torchlight. How not at all romantic.

The Maccy D