Street cleaners. They do a great and essential job. They remove the detritus of the day and night before, wiping away any trace of the scum that have traversed Broad Street and its environs.
BUT DO THEY HAVE TO DO IT SEVEN FUCKING TIMES BETWEEN THE HOURS OF FOUR AND SIX IN THE MORNING.
Make that eight. PISS OFF. PISS THE FUCK OFF. It is bad enough that I spent the first part of the night awake hearing all the twats shouting, revving their engines, and sharing their music with the world as they drove away from their nights on the razz. So now listening to each street cleaner as it thunders its way down the street like a flatulent elephant, cleaning bits of road that have already been cleaned a number of times, is a little bit irritating.
And why the hell is that Biffa cart so fucking cheerful about the fact it’s reversing? I don’t give a shit if it is reversing. Least of all at 5:50am.
I wouldn’t mind, but when I walk to work in just under two hours time there will still be vomit on the pavement. There will be vomit outside Walkabout. There will be vomit nestling in those exciting triangular niches in the side of the ICC. The roads will be lovely and clean for the cars and bicycles of Birmingham, but Risa’s back steps and the nearby pavement will still be splattered by the usual puddles of red barf.
AND YOU GEESE CAN KISS MY ARSE AS WELL.
Man. Another reason I wouldn’t mind but [insert rage-inducing incident here]… I refer you to last Monday, the bank holiday, to be precise. I was woken up at 3:30am by a mouthbreathers’ ball outside – a collection of revellers taking their party from the club to the streets. Women bellowing at each other and any man passing. Men revving their engines and turning their car stereos up to attract them. People stealing their shoes, apparently. All this heard clear as a a bell through closed and sealed double-glazed windows. But I was fine with this. I knew they would get tired, and go home within the hour. That’s how it normally works. I was peaceful, and prepared to go back to sleep.
Until the first street cleaner. Bing. Wide awake. I wasn’t going to get any sleep, so I gave up trying. I got up and did my nails. At 4:30 in the morning. A piece of cake, a glass of wine, and twenty shiny nails later, I was perfectly happy with the situation, and in the end I had a really productive day.
Today, however, I am pissed off. I have to go to work, and that’s bad enough. I mean why do they have to be so loud? They’re deafening. I thought it was supposed to be quieter in a vacuum. And this is something moving through a residential area early in the morning. Surely there are laws about this stuff? Has nobody invented a silent street-cleaner for posh neighbourhoods? Or do posh neighbourhoods not get dirty?
Gah. Have a nice bloody day.