A Load of Old Rubbish

How a once great and powerful nation can prove unable to pick up its own trash on a weekly basis is beyond me. Perhaps they've looked at the example of Naples and decided, as quasi and reluctant members of the EU (unless it suits them), that a bit of trash on the streets won't hurt.
And this does not only relate to the hordes of youths roaming the streets at night.
In France, where the towns are run as a sort of private fiefdom and the mayor is God, failure to pick up the trash weekly would be a guillotining offence and it would be a matter of personal pride that he should provide his townspeople with the best possible service.
Yesterday in my mailbox was a four page glossy magazine, published by the private contractors who perform this service for us, illustrating exactly how they go about it.
A full explanation of the process of recycling was included together with description of their fleet of truck and pictures of many of their operatives, none of whom seem to have complained about the weight of the bins they have to lift.
If, by chance, as my wife did the other day, you put something in the wrong bin for recycling (they're colour coded and provided free of charge), instead of a swingeing fine or summons, you get a polite note pointing out your error.
It's a highly efficient and reliable service reinforced by the public disposal units in every town, the déchetteries, where you can dump any surplus rubbish.
Perhaps if the British had a better organised system for the collection of waste, some of the government computer discs that get mislaid on a daily basis would come to light.