Skips!

Graham Bedford
Sick of being lied to, I went in search of the truth. If you ignore the climate scam, then in all cases the truth is less palatable than the lies.

Does anyone else feel an overpowering urge to climb in a skip? I once did do that at work on a weekend when no office staff were around. I climbed in to extract a nylon strop buried at the bottom. In the offshore industry, they went from checking the condition of nylon strops before re-using them, to use once only. Thus, lots of brand-new nylon strops found their way into skips, and I knew a guy who did off-roading with Land Rovers.

Nylon strops were preferable to wire slings to attach winches to trees. I was intent on adding to his collection.

Anyway, the pile of brand-new stainless-steel pipework, that sat on top of that strop, had not even been used once. Another feature of offshore: Some engineer dreams up a modification, a project is created and never gets implemented. The fabrication company are more than happy to build the hardware and provide all the certification.

The kit never gets used but the golf clubs and mowers get delivered around Christmas time. So, everyone involved is happy.

The pipework then sits in the warehouse for a few years and eventually gets scrapped. More happiness for the skip hirers and scrap metal dealers. It’s all about spreading the wealth.

This particular unused project started to slide towards me, as I yanked on the strop. I grabbed the edge of the skip and kicked my short legs in the air, everything passing under me, and no injuries were sustained. The thought of how I would explain a broken leg after being extracted by firemen from the work’s skip to management still haunts me.

Plus, the inevitable reputational damage and potential shame, ensured I never climbed into another skip.

Albeit the temptations are still there. Especially a skip that sits on the street and contains thermalite blocks: my go to for pothole filling. Sadly, I am usually accompanied by two dogs and a wife, who drag me away. Even looking into a skip is verboten with her.

I did recently acquire a stack of damaged thermalite blocks from a pile of house extension debris in someone's front garden. A couple of tins of Guinness ensured we have materials to last a few winters. I stacked then at home, but that looked awful according to SWMBO, plus our house is currently up for sale. I had to contact a neighbour to store them at her house. The utter embarrassment of it all.

Skips come in two variations: the half-filled one and the over filled one. The latter is identified by having the insides lined by internal or wardrobe doors. Never follow them on a road too closely, I imagine lots of stuff comes tumbling out, always my great fear when I rode motorcycles.

I once abandoned a motorcycling holiday in Fort William early, as I was fed up with getting soaked to the skin every day. On the ride home to Norfolk the rain finally stopped at Peterborough. It was one of those days where the rain was so heavy, it was difficult to see through the visor. It did not slow me down at all. It would now!

About 10 minutes from home, on a dual carriageway: the car ahead of me in the left-hand lane suddenly swerved into the right-hand lane.

Instinctively I followed him, not knowing why he had done it. Then it became apparent: a full set of ladders were laid across the inside lane. I believe they would have had me off if I had ridden over them. I suspect they were not from a skip, more likely a roof rack. But a valuable lesson was learned (should that be learnt?)

I did read later that some unfortunate lady had damaged her car in hitting them, which made me feel really guilty that I had not gone back to try and move them off the road. Plus, a spare set of ladders would always have come in handy. But I just wanted to get home, and I had considered myself very fortunate that I had missed them.

Ten hours in the saddle, in torrential rain, and I nearly came off, 10 minutes from home in perfect riding conditions. I certainly dodged a bullet there.

Another non-related story: I hit a muntjac on my motorbike. I came out of the saddle, landed back on the saddle, and just continued on my way. Totally without excitement, which amazed me, as I clearly saw it under the bike. And thought I will be coming off. When I got home and checked the bike over: it had taken off a reflector from the front fork and miraculously had left parts of its fur trapped between the rim of the front wheel and the tyre, I had scalped the poor bugger. I left the fur there as a story piece until I sold the bike.

Now, if I come across a skip lorry, I get past ASAP, regardless of what I am in or on. Why they do not legislate that they all come with steel covers and that those covers need to be on for transportation is beyond me. Probably more de-population agenda methodology.

My latest skip success was at the local recycle centre. It was an emotional visit, as I was taking a coloured WC and handbasin.

I had tried to give it away via Gumtree, without success. Who’d had thought that no one would want a circa 1990 two-piece coloured suite, perfect for a period house cloakroom? Mrs GOG refused to put it on Facebook marketplace, so off to the recycle centre they went. I could not believe how many modern bathroom WCs were in the hardcore skip. We live in a crazy world of consumption.

In went the toilet and handbasin, both breaking on entry, and breaking my heart. I'd spent 30 years on and off that throne. However, my foraging eye spotted what looked like an intact rolling pin, luckily within reach and no staff overseeing me, out it came.