Thursday, February 13, 2020

Mattress in the rain

Not the actual mattresses, this one's in London, photo by CS.
Actually two mattresses, in the rain, out in the cold, dumped. Rolled up for disposal, tensioned and spring loaded with string and bungee cord, like some unexploded pent up thing. Ready to go off at any second and prang the dumb handler. Moving a cold dead mattress in the cold dead rain must be a bit like moving a cold dead body in the rain, I'm imagining this, I've no actual experience. On your own you just have to drag the mattress across wet cobbles, like some Robert Louis Stevenson villain bringing out the dead. I feel guilt seeping into the backside of my head and a nagging pain the small of my back. They are now by the gutter, next to a shiny blue wheelie bin, in the dark, their fate is sealed. No more platforms for sweet dreams or drunken slumbers, it's over.

Everything bound for the dump or landfill must offer up a little resistance, suddenly becoming heavier, harder to grip, more awkward, a universal law I guess as I reflect on the final lap. Like trying to strap a tired toddler into a buggy, there's bound to be a struggle however one sided. They rest in peace and I leave, slightly anxious that the email from the local authority promising a timely uplift from 6am tomorrow might somehow be not acted upon. The roads are flooded, a tree is down and my £15 fee doesn't quite seem like enough compensation for the efforts of the bin-men team. Will they, like the Pony Express get through and if they do will they actually uplift two double mattresses folded and in high tension, ready to pop at the smallest disturbance? What if some one loses an eye during the loading or a passer by trips over them in the dark?

Next day: They are gone. It's as if they never were. Now they swim with the fishes, except they're in landfill and being pummeled by a big yellow digger.

P.S. We tried to give them away to charity but charity said no thanks.

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