The protests against the closure of the local dump were to no avail. I got a letter from the council a couple of weeks ago saying that they had noted the objections, reviewed the future of the dump, and were going to close it anyhow. I really don't know whether consultation exercises do any good, or whether the original proposal generally goes ahead regardless. The last place I worked in the City was shut down, because the bank that owned it had acquired another investment management business and was integrating them under the banner of the new acquisition, in Edinburgh. There was a staff consultation exercise, as there had to be by law, but since the integration and closure of the London office were going ahead regardless, and management made it clear that redundancy terms were not on the table for discussion, I couldn't see what they were consulting about, and refused to have anything to do with it.
Anyway, the dump is going. This morning I couldn't lay my hand on the letter that said exactly when it would shut. The Essex council website still listed its opening hours as normal, with no mention of the planned closure, but I suspected that might just be because nobody had remembered to update the website. I thought I might as well go and investigate the next nearest dump, since I'd be using it soon enough.
The Rush Lane dump is larger than the one that's closing, with a one way system, and parking that is more organised, once you work out what the rule is. Cars park nose to tail in about three parallel rows, with clear lanes between them, so that when you've finished dumping your waste you pull out and drive off. That probably produces fewer collisions than the random reversing and turning round one gets at the other dump, though I had better avoid going at busy periods, since with my complete inability to parallel park I wouldn't be able to get into a space, if it were very full. Instead of climbing up steps and dropping your green waste into a gigantic skip, you feed it into a hopper from which it is pushed by a gigantic ram. Having an engine running constantly seems to me less green than simply making a big pile of stuff and then compacting it occasionally, but I am not an expert on waste disposal.
The drive is 7 to 8 minutes longer than the trip to the other dump. If I go to the dump on average once a fortnight, which is plausible averaging it out across the year, an extra quarter of an hour drive each time adds up to six and a half hours a year extra time just driving between my house and the tip. That's a depressing thought. I could improve matters if I managed to compost more at home, and needed to take less to the dump, which would work if the garden were less weedy. Recycling weeds back on to the borders via the compost heap is a thankless task. A friend who began to put her hairy bittercress and other nasties in her green waste bin instead of her own compost heap was struck by the improvement it made to the garden beds after quite a short while. We don't get green waste collection here, so it's a choice between home compost, burning, or the council tip.
I started pulling up the nettles and brambles that have established themselves along the edge of the wood, on the way to the compost heap. I put the stems and roots where the bonfire goes, hoping that the Systems Administrator might be able to burn them, otherwise that'll be another 35 minute round trip to the dump, if not two. And I don't fancy trying to stuff the nettles into bags. I got stung just pulling them up.
Showing posts with label dump. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dump. Show all posts
Sunday, 13 November 2011
Monday, 8 August 2011
it could be a long week
Today was the start of a marathon stint at work. I agreed to do some extra days to help cover while the manager is on holiday. This was arranged about two months ago, when August appeared a long way off, and I don't think I can really have been concentrating as he ticked boxes on the staff rota, but the effect when you add the extra days to my normal working pattern is that I'll be at work for seven days out of the eight between now and next Monday inclusive. Oh well, I expect I'll cope.
My usual road to work had re-opened and the evil, tyre-destroying potholes filled in. Given they only patched the edges, and didn't resurface the entire lane, I don't entirely understand why it was shut for five days last week, but as it only inconvenienced me for one of them I don't really care. Driving home, a normally OK right hand turning was rendered unsafe by a van illegally parked in front of the used-car dealership on the Harwich road. It isn't the first time that's happened, and I really ought to complain to the council, or the police community support officer, or somebody.
(I did get organised to complain to the council about the proposed closure of the dump, and got an official reply saying that my comments have been noted and will be fully considered before a final decision is taken later in the year. I don't suppose my comments will make a blind bit of difference, but for anyone else who wants to give it a go, your man is Councillor Kevin Bentley, Cabinet Member for Economic Development, Waste and Recycling, at the Cabinet Office, PO Box 11, County Hall, Chelmsford CM1 1LX. Musing on what else they could cut instead of front line services I noticed that Colchester Borough and Braintree District Councils have just decided not to pursue the option of a joint Chief Executive or shared management. Colchester's total net revenue budget for 2010-11 is £25.67m according to their website, and Braintree's is £14m according to an Executive Leadership Case Study they published which was the quickest thing I could find on the internet. That's a combined annual budget of £40m, then. Makes you wonder how Tesco manages its annual sales of £67,573m with just the one Group Chief Executive).
Apparently yesterday was busy at work, and we did OK today for a Monday in August (I think). A kindly woman wanted ideas for plants with Pearl in the name, as a present for a friend called Pearl, and using the RHS on-line plant finder my colleague came up with a couple of camellias, which she bought. It is customary to proclaim in your Mission Statement that you wish your customers to be delighted, but I think she really was. She said we were the only nursery she used where she would get such service.
My colleague also had a good and intelligent idea for a low-cost, targeted way to market ourselves to large gardens. Having expressed my complete approval for this plan, I had to take a turn calling large gardens and asking for the names and email adresses of their head gardeners. Responses were mostly kind and helpful, one very suspicious and sniffy. I am glad my job does not normally entail cold-calling, it must be quite soul-destroying. I should be more compassionate when people cold-call me, except that they have chosen to work for boiler room scams and double glazing companies that ignore my stated wishes according to the telephone preference service.
It was very nice having a working watch, and I got a little glow each time I looked at my wrist, and saw the red strap, and red second hand ticking funkily away. Buddhists who teach that material possessions do not bring true happiness ought to try going to work and keeping track of the R4 schedule for 3 weeks with no watch, and then they would admit that some material possessions bring, if not true happiness, then quite convincing false contentment. An unfortunate side-effect of my quest for a watch has been that Google has worked out that I wanted one, but not yet clocked (ha!) that I have got one, so every other page of every newspaper site I look at now contains ads by Google for Swiss Railway watches. They'll get over it, I suppose, like the time when I was briefly pursued by ads for Denby pottery (grunge china, as a former City colleague so uncharmingly described it).
Getting into the car at 5.20pm I deduced from the fact that the news had already got on to the London riots that the world financial system had not yet gone into total meltdown. There was some not very sensible discussion of whether governments or markets were in charge, which missed the point. Markets are signalling mechanisms, and I reckon they are signalling, firstly that Standard and Poor's are utterly useless and irrelevant, and secondly that the Euro is unworkable and is not going to last.
My usual road to work had re-opened and the evil, tyre-destroying potholes filled in. Given they only patched the edges, and didn't resurface the entire lane, I don't entirely understand why it was shut for five days last week, but as it only inconvenienced me for one of them I don't really care. Driving home, a normally OK right hand turning was rendered unsafe by a van illegally parked in front of the used-car dealership on the Harwich road. It isn't the first time that's happened, and I really ought to complain to the council, or the police community support officer, or somebody.
(I did get organised to complain to the council about the proposed closure of the dump, and got an official reply saying that my comments have been noted and will be fully considered before a final decision is taken later in the year. I don't suppose my comments will make a blind bit of difference, but for anyone else who wants to give it a go, your man is Councillor Kevin Bentley, Cabinet Member for Economic Development, Waste and Recycling, at the Cabinet Office, PO Box 11, County Hall, Chelmsford CM1 1LX. Musing on what else they could cut instead of front line services I noticed that Colchester Borough and Braintree District Councils have just decided not to pursue the option of a joint Chief Executive or shared management. Colchester's total net revenue budget for 2010-11 is £25.67m according to their website, and Braintree's is £14m according to an Executive Leadership Case Study they published which was the quickest thing I could find on the internet. That's a combined annual budget of £40m, then. Makes you wonder how Tesco manages its annual sales of £67,573m with just the one Group Chief Executive).
Apparently yesterday was busy at work, and we did OK today for a Monday in August (I think). A kindly woman wanted ideas for plants with Pearl in the name, as a present for a friend called Pearl, and using the RHS on-line plant finder my colleague came up with a couple of camellias, which she bought. It is customary to proclaim in your Mission Statement that you wish your customers to be delighted, but I think she really was. She said we were the only nursery she used where she would get such service.
My colleague also had a good and intelligent idea for a low-cost, targeted way to market ourselves to large gardens. Having expressed my complete approval for this plan, I had to take a turn calling large gardens and asking for the names and email adresses of their head gardeners. Responses were mostly kind and helpful, one very suspicious and sniffy. I am glad my job does not normally entail cold-calling, it must be quite soul-destroying. I should be more compassionate when people cold-call me, except that they have chosen to work for boiler room scams and double glazing companies that ignore my stated wishes according to the telephone preference service.
It was very nice having a working watch, and I got a little glow each time I looked at my wrist, and saw the red strap, and red second hand ticking funkily away. Buddhists who teach that material possessions do not bring true happiness ought to try going to work and keeping track of the R4 schedule for 3 weeks with no watch, and then they would admit that some material possessions bring, if not true happiness, then quite convincing false contentment. An unfortunate side-effect of my quest for a watch has been that Google has worked out that I wanted one, but not yet clocked (ha!) that I have got one, so every other page of every newspaper site I look at now contains ads by Google for Swiss Railway watches. They'll get over it, I suppose, like the time when I was briefly pursued by ads for Denby pottery (grunge china, as a former City colleague so uncharmingly described it).
Getting into the car at 5.20pm I deduced from the fact that the news had already got on to the London riots that the world financial system had not yet gone into total meltdown. There was some not very sensible discussion of whether governments or markets were in charge, which missed the point. Markets are signalling mechanisms, and I reckon they are signalling, firstly that Standard and Poor's are utterly useless and irrelevant, and secondly that the Euro is unworkable and is not going to last.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
some feedback
I need to check the comments settings again. I thought I'd cracked it, but have got some feedback via normal e-mail from a friend who reads cardunculus, and has just tried to post a comment but the blog wouldn't co-operate. Since the friend's thoughts echo mine I copy them here:
I have tried a few times to post to your blog but it really doesn't like me again! This is what I was going to say...
This is a great example of why having a county council and a Borough council doesn't work and wastes our money. By closing this amenity many people on the east side of town will have the choice of a long journey across town (increased congestion - environmentally bad) or putting more out for the bin men to collect less recyclying also environmentally bad. The dump is run by the county and they don't care that the borough council will face increased costs - either through more rubbish to collect from houses or (and I hope not, but fear) increased fly tipping. Letters to the MP are needed!
This will have to wait until this evening, or tomorrow, as I'm off to the Tate today, trains permitting. Yesterday the overhead lines were struck by lightning at Witham. More of the Tate anon.
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
one step forward, one step back
The council giveth and the council taketh away. After my relief that they were finally doing something about the potholes, I discovered this morning when I went to the dump (aka waste recycling centre aka civic amenity site) that the council propose closing it as part of their cost saving drive. This is a dismal prospect. It is the closest dump to my house, and always busy. If it closes I'll have to drive further to get to one of the others, and given local complaints and warnings about queues and traffic jams at the other sites, getting rid of horsetail, creeping sorrel, unwanted seed heads etc is going to be a lot more trouble than at present. Probably quite a few people won't want to go to the extra trouble, and flytipping will increase.
It is a tough one, and I don't know what they should cut instead. Obviously I ought to think that libraries are more important than rubbish dumps, except that I use the dump weekly in the growing season, whereas I haven't used a library, except to ask them to put up concert posters, for eight years. I'm left hoping they could maybe rationalise some of their property and office costs, but don't have the enthusiasm to trawl through the council accounts to see what seemingly unecessary expenditure lurks within. Council fact-finding missions or something.
Looking at the local paper online I saw that a couple from Harwich were killed on one of the junctions off the A120, just the day after I grumbled here about how dangerous the turnings were. On the same day a fatal crash on the A12 at the Essex-Suffolk border killed another two people, injured two more, one severely, and caused a traffic jam that backed up to the outskirts of Ipswich plus queues on other local roads as motorists tried to avoid the A12. It is a terrible road. Something should be done, if only dropping the speed limit to 50mph on that stretch to try and reduce the number of cars that fly off it. The human consequences are tragic, and traffic chaos through the area certainly doesn't do my place of work any good.
I swept and tidied the conservatory yesterday morning, pruned and weeded and fed the plants, and washed out the filter of the pump that fed the water spout on the back wall. I was quite proud of myself as I worked out from first principles that to test whether the filter was the cause of the thing running at a mere trickle I should immerse the pump without the filter in a bucket of clean water, and even more proud when I got the whole thing to work properly. It has been switched off for months to save electricity, but I got exasperated by the penny pinching, and the knowledge that compared to the carbon output of China this piece of self-denial was not helping the planet in any meaningful way. Ten minutes after switching the pump back on, the main trip switch on the fuse box clunked to Off.
My initial guilty assumption was that it must have been switching on my pump what done it. I was out after lunch, but returned to find the Systems Administrator hot and demoralised, having spent the entire afternoon trying and failing to work out what had gone wrong. Something had happened in the circuit that supported half the downstairs plugs, but the origin of the trouble was a mystery. The only consoling thought was that the S.A. had remembered to plug the freezer into a socket that still worked, so we didn't have to contend with a mountain of defrosted soft fruit and apple puree. I am very attached to my stores of home-grown fruit, what with all the work that went into picking and prepping it.
Today an electrician arrived at lunchtime, who seems to have identified the problem, which was not anything the S.A. could ever have guessed. Something had caused a short circuit in a wire that was left over from the days when the house took its water from a well and so had an electric well pump. The wire was no longer used for anything, so far as the electrician could see, but was simply there, like an appendix. Disconnecting the faulty wire from the rest of the wiring ought to do the trick. The electrician was very cheerful, and liked cats, as well as turning up within four hours of my phone call to the firm that rewired the house for us when we moved in, so he was a hit all round. The way they work out the loscation of the short circuit is very clever. After switching the whole circuit off at the fuse box, you send an electrical signal up each bit of cable. If it can short circuit, that is cross from one wire to the other, a signal pings back to the testing device. No return signal, no short circuit. Apparently garages are a frequent location for faults, what with the damp and the cold, but the good news was that the wiring in ours still looked fine. And the fuse box, while it couldn't be fitted nowadays in a new-build or rewiring project, is perfectly safe, and still legal in existing installations.
My pump was thus exonerated, and the whole wiring debacle not nearly as bad as it could have been. But I'm annoyed about the dump.
It is a tough one, and I don't know what they should cut instead. Obviously I ought to think that libraries are more important than rubbish dumps, except that I use the dump weekly in the growing season, whereas I haven't used a library, except to ask them to put up concert posters, for eight years. I'm left hoping they could maybe rationalise some of their property and office costs, but don't have the enthusiasm to trawl through the council accounts to see what seemingly unecessary expenditure lurks within. Council fact-finding missions or something.
Looking at the local paper online I saw that a couple from Harwich were killed on one of the junctions off the A120, just the day after I grumbled here about how dangerous the turnings were. On the same day a fatal crash on the A12 at the Essex-Suffolk border killed another two people, injured two more, one severely, and caused a traffic jam that backed up to the outskirts of Ipswich plus queues on other local roads as motorists tried to avoid the A12. It is a terrible road. Something should be done, if only dropping the speed limit to 50mph on that stretch to try and reduce the number of cars that fly off it. The human consequences are tragic, and traffic chaos through the area certainly doesn't do my place of work any good.
I swept and tidied the conservatory yesterday morning, pruned and weeded and fed the plants, and washed out the filter of the pump that fed the water spout on the back wall. I was quite proud of myself as I worked out from first principles that to test whether the filter was the cause of the thing running at a mere trickle I should immerse the pump without the filter in a bucket of clean water, and even more proud when I got the whole thing to work properly. It has been switched off for months to save electricity, but I got exasperated by the penny pinching, and the knowledge that compared to the carbon output of China this piece of self-denial was not helping the planet in any meaningful way. Ten minutes after switching the pump back on, the main trip switch on the fuse box clunked to Off.
My initial guilty assumption was that it must have been switching on my pump what done it. I was out after lunch, but returned to find the Systems Administrator hot and demoralised, having spent the entire afternoon trying and failing to work out what had gone wrong. Something had happened in the circuit that supported half the downstairs plugs, but the origin of the trouble was a mystery. The only consoling thought was that the S.A. had remembered to plug the freezer into a socket that still worked, so we didn't have to contend with a mountain of defrosted soft fruit and apple puree. I am very attached to my stores of home-grown fruit, what with all the work that went into picking and prepping it.
Today an electrician arrived at lunchtime, who seems to have identified the problem, which was not anything the S.A. could ever have guessed. Something had caused a short circuit in a wire that was left over from the days when the house took its water from a well and so had an electric well pump. The wire was no longer used for anything, so far as the electrician could see, but was simply there, like an appendix. Disconnecting the faulty wire from the rest of the wiring ought to do the trick. The electrician was very cheerful, and liked cats, as well as turning up within four hours of my phone call to the firm that rewired the house for us when we moved in, so he was a hit all round. The way they work out the loscation of the short circuit is very clever. After switching the whole circuit off at the fuse box, you send an electrical signal up each bit of cable. If it can short circuit, that is cross from one wire to the other, a signal pings back to the testing device. No return signal, no short circuit. Apparently garages are a frequent location for faults, what with the damp and the cold, but the good news was that the wiring in ours still looked fine. And the fuse box, while it couldn't be fitted nowadays in a new-build or rewiring project, is perfectly safe, and still legal in existing installations.
My pump was thus exonerated, and the whole wiring debacle not nearly as bad as it could have been. But I'm annoyed about the dump.
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