Heroes of Highfield road

It's still icy here, high above the town centre, and our street is usually one of the last to lose the pack ice. Thus I was unusually excited this morning, to look out of the window and see the bin lorry arriving! It comes every week, and the recycling is collected on alternate weeks. I was thinking "one street" as I raced down the stairs to get my camera, nip out in my slippers, with wet hair, to 'help' the bin men/refuse operators by blipping them.

Out in all weathers, doing what comes unnaturally, earning little, and not getting famous like the trawlermen with their own TV series...I certainly wouldn't do that job! Then again, apart from in Latvija in the Soviet Era, I have never, ever seen a dustbin-woman. And I'm not complaining!


PS There is at least one more hero in our street. Cyril, who lives two doors down, was a radio operator dropped behind enemy lines during WW II, before the SAS was formed. He doesn't get about much any more, but I miss seeing him going round the block on his walking frame. On one set of knuckles, he has the word "love" tattooed, and on the other, "hate". He and his wife have lived in this street for fifty-seven years. Such history they have seen! They can even remember when the buses came right round the estate, and communal walks were organised across the fields to the pub, the Forester's Arms in Claypits Lane.

This was the first picture I took this morning. I haven't sharpened it, just used the selective colouring app called ColorSplash.