Why is it everytime I go to the recycling place I feel like I'm some arch evil criminal of waste proportions.

The final clear out saw a few bits and pieces heading to the recycling centre, a kettle, a light, clothes, lamp shades, twirly linen line and an office chair.

I'd spent time dismantling the chair so that I could chuck the metal parts in the scrap metal . . the rest was either plastic or the seaty bit.

I asked about the chair . . thinking it's better to ask than be shouted at putting it in the wrong container.

"Yes metal in that one . . the rest in the one with the smiley face." said the young lad.

So I wander over armed with the rest of it . . go to place it in.

Mrs Recycling Officer with PMT says "you can't put that in there it's metal".

"No it isn't" I said "I've taken all the metal out, this is all plastic or seating".

*insert muttering and mumblings* and finally she says in a bit of a huff . .

"Oh leave it there I'll sort it out, you do know this is a recycling centre don't you"

My inner voice said "Yes I do you stupid cow, why do you think I spent time sorting it all out, this bit is plastic, P.L.A.S.T.I.C . . I could have just chucked it in my bin but I thought I'd help those poorly dustbin men out and bring it."

I actually said "thank you" . . and ran away just pleased to be rid of it.