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.