Sunday, 9 January 2011

Suburban Soundscapes

Sitting in bed drinking tea this morning, our conversation was drowned out by the usual Sunday morning noise of tumbling glass. Our neighbours on the other side from these ones (who never, someone down the street complained to me recently, put out recycling at all - but what would they put out, given that they don't read newspapers and never drink wine?) were hurling their Friday and Saturday night empties - cab sav for him, chilled sauvignon blanc from NZ for her, unpatriotic creature - into the recycling. 'The battle cry of the middle classes,' my husband yelled above the din.

4 comments:

  1. My grandfather used to say something similar about his mother-in-law's morning ritual of scraping the ash off the toast she had burnt. (Yes, they lived in the same house and I remember them both quite vividly!) Though I don't think 'middle-class' would have been a fair accusation.

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  2. My dad used to use his boiled egg as an ashtray and, if anyone spoke a word at breakfast, he appeared to be on the verge of being sick.

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  3. But do they recycle their newspapers too?

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  4. I don't think there's room when they've done with the bottle hurling, Madame. I hope your entire holiday wasn't spent waiting in the airport for the snow ploughs to arrive - no doubt all is revealed on your blog, so I will go and check.

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