Black holes

… and other theories. Life has its frustrations. Most of these are pretty minor in the big scheme; but annoying, nevertheless. Two weeks ago my black bin for general rubbish went walkies after I had put it out for collection. It had my house number on it so I am pretty sure my literate neighbours would have noticed if they had taken the wrong one.

What to do? I contacted Northants Council and ordered a new one. This never turned up. I emailed and complained. Norbert – now that’s a name I associate with Gary Larsson  - replied. He said it HAD been delivered and I should have a look around my neighbourhood to see where it was. What! I would have thought that a delivery to number 8 means that the bin gets delivered to the door and not ballpark village. I felt myself amidst a Gary Larsson cartoon discussing bins with chickens perhaps.

I emailed again. Now I await a next, new black bin. Watch this space. In deference to Northants employees, I have thought that maybe in my village there is a black hole that has swallowed my black bin. At the same time as this was playing out, I had an email to say my passport had been approved and it would be delivered between 8am and 12. It didn’t arrive. Argh. Another thing slipping into that black hole. This time I panicked. Bins are two a penny but a passport going walkies is much worse. It did turn up some time later, thank God. This time I really did fret.

While all this is happening, I have spent my time fighting a heavy cold. Everything looks much bleaker when you don’t feel too hot. I haven’t been swimming, and I haven’t been on my bike either this week. I have felt very sorry for myself, to be honest. 

A scary Halloween costume to frighten those hiding in the dark corners, if not the dark holes

I walked Ezra-Mae to school and she cheered me up. We sounded out the letters on the street signs and she was excited to see a number nine on so many bins awaiting collection in her neighbourhood. I remind myself I should try and be more excited about things like bin numbers

Meanwhile, black holes – large potholes – abound all over the place and as it is winter they are only going to get bigger. I need a sign for my rear window, “I’m not drunk, I’m avoiding potholes.” I realise how I drive round the familiar ones like I am training for a slalom. Potholes are much worse for cyclists – both as a hazard and being much more difficult to avoid when cars are bearing down on you. Just a thought, is there a link between these big, almost bottomless holes in the road and a missing bin. There could well be.