What a Load of Rubbish Read Online Free PDF

– and these occasions happened nearly every day, not just now and again. The residents of Suburbiaville Newtown were far too professional, far too artistic and far too posh to worry about things like litter and clean streets. But they would soon complain if they were not maintained to the highest standard. They preferred to leave things of this nature to unimportant people like Malcolm. That was his job after all – and he was so good at it. They would have to leave him a good tip at Christmas. But if they forgot to, Malcolm wouldn’t mind – he knew his place in the food-chain – he liked to help.
    Oh yes – and then there was the time when Malcolm dashed to the rescue of that elderly lady on the corner of Willowy Lane. The poor woman was standing at the bus stop, searching through her bag for her bus-pass. She must have dropped it somewhere, it couldn’t have been stolen, not on Willowy Lane; it was far too idyllic. Oh no – she began to weep – she would have to telephone her son, he worked in the city, something to do with banks and finance. He would have to get something in for tea; this, also, had happened before and her son was none too happy about it last time. Maybe her son would put her in an old people’s home; the thought made her shiver and shakewith fear, the stories she had heard about them. Bbrrr , it was enough to turn your hair white – again.
    Then, along came Malcolm pushing his unwieldy barrow. He saw the elderly lady, saw the tears running down her cheeks, heard her muttering, “Oh no, whatever will I do now?”
    “G’mornin’ ma’am – what ails thee on such a luvverly mornin’?” he asked. “Can I help yer in any way?” So the old lady told him what the trouble was, told him about that dreadful old people’s home. Malcolm could see the lady was almost having a panic attack.
    “Please don’t you fret, my lovely,” Malcolm soothed her, “I’ll run yer to town in this.” And he removed the forward bin on his barrow – hiding the bin behind a bush, camouflaging it with leaves and twigs because shiny, galvanised, steel dustbins are worth their weight in gold.
    “Please my ol’ darlin’ – sit thee down.” He gestured with a dramatic sweep of his arms. A large, empty space was left in front of the barrow. Malcolm helped the elderly lady settle comfortably into it, lean her back against the rear dustbin. Then he pushed the lady to town in comfort and safety. And because they did not have to stop to pick up other passengers, they arrived ten minutes ahead of the bus – and so could choose the best food available.
    That evening her son, who had quite a sharp temper because he worked so hard, feasted on a banquet and never found out about the bus pass. For Malcolm found it later when he took the lady home and stopped for a cup of tea and a chat. He spotted the pass underneath a pile of unopened mail; the corner was just sticking out beneath it.
    Apparently her son had dumped it on the coffee table and had not noticed the pass the night before.
    “Well,” the old lady said, “they did work him very hard indeed at the bank and he couldn’t remember everything – poor chap.”
    Displays of professionalism; acts of kindness towards small children; willingness to help elderly people in their hour of need; and, of course, his clean and smart – some would say suave – appearance endeared the residents of Suburbiaville to Malcolm. Here was a man, they thought, one of the “rank and file” who, despite his lower station and lack of education, was willing to go that extra mile just for them. We deserve it after all – we must remember to give him a tip at Christmas…

Chapter 4
Monday is Only a Weekend Away
    Thursday in Suburbiaville was payday. After work all the builders, all the maintenance workers, all the factory hands, the warehouse-men and checkout-girls from the local supermarkets and other public-service workers, would meet up in “The Artisan’s Arms” – a