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Wheelie bin antics

I’ve decided the worse thing about moving isn’t all the packing, unpacking, paperwork or organising tradesmen to do about 50 different jobs, it is the cleaning of the place you are leaving that is by far the worst. I mean, cleaning wheelie bins, outside paths and windows just isn’t fun. Then there’s the woodwork, walls, light fittings. None of it can be done in advance because with kids around they will only muck it up again. Yesterday was cleaning the wheelie bins day. Behind cleaning the lavatory it has to be the worst job ever. I was moaning about it and my friend from the UK reminded me of a time I was putting some things in the bin and accidentally threw my car keys in with the rubbish. I tried to reach down to get them however, because I am pretty short, okay short, I had to pull the bin at an angle to reach in. As I leant over the bin fell, pulling me in it. If anybody had happened to walk past all they would have seen were my ankles and feet peeping out of the bottom of a wheelie bin! Off course the sensible thing to do would be to have a shower and never breathe a word of it to anybody but where would the fun in that be?

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