So apparently today is World Cleanup Day. Millions of people, all over the planet, armed with bin bags and gloves, going out to pick up rubbish that other people dropped. On purpose. For free. And do you know what my first thought was? “Good grief, we’ve built an entire international awareness day around something that used to just be called not dropping litter in the first place.”
I went for my walk this morning — coffee in hand, obviously, never tea, a man has standards — and counted, quite without meaning to, four crisp packets, one shoe (just the one, always just the one, where does its friend go?), and a drinks can wedged so precisely into a hedge it looked almost intentional, like modern art. “Untitled: Man Who Couldn’t Be Bothered.”
Now, I’m not going to pretend this is a new phenomenon invented by the youth of today, because that’s the sort of thing grumpy old men say right before someone points out a photo of 1974 covered in chip wrappers and I have to quietly change the subject. Litter isn’t new. But the sheer convenience of littering has had an upgrade, and I don’t think anyone voted for that. We’ve gone from “finish your can, put it in the bin like a civilised person” to “finish your can, drop it wherever your arm happens to be at the time, a stranger in a hi-vis vest will deal with it eventually.”
And before anyone accuses me of standing on some moral high ground with my coffee cup — fair point, well made. I have absolutely walked past a stray wrapper on a windy day and thought “not today, wind, this one’s yours.” We’ve all done it. That’s rather the problem, and rather the point of today, if I’m honest.
Here’s the thing, though — for all my grumbling, there’s something quietly wonderful about a day where thousands of people just… turn up. No fanfare, no big reward, just bin bags and a Saturday morning given away to leave a park looking better than they found it. That’s not nothing. That’s actually rather decent of everyone, and I’ll admit it warms even a grumpy old heart.
So today, for once, I’m not just going to complain from the sidelines with my coffee. I might even pick up that shoe. Not its missing partner, mind — some mysteries aren’t mine to solve.
Anyway, what do I know? I’m just a grumpy old man.
Go on then — what’s yours? Tell me the oddest single item of litter you’ve ever spotted on a walk (we all have one).
