'Don't worry sir, the situation will be dealt with.' 'Right. Great. Thanks.' I put the phone down and looked out of the window. There were my two new rubbish bins, the blue one for the fortnightly recycling collection and the green one for everything else except food waste. That was supposed to go in a brown bin but the council had only given me some biodegradable bags. The collection comes round early on a Tuesday, today, so I had put out all the rubbish last night. Now it was 9 a.m. and of course, during the night foxes had got into the food waste and strewn old chicken bones, mouldy cheese and some wilted bits of watercress all across the drive. I went into the kitchen and made some tea. I work from home, I'm a writer. I do well enough although my wife earns the real money with her nine to five. But I get to wear a dressing gown all day long and watch Scooby-Do each morning while she's struggling in on the Tube. There was a noise from outside, probably the postman. The council takes pride in never doing today what can be done in 28 days' time. I straightened my gown and opened the front door. No postman but there was a fox up on its hind legs, sniffing round the waste bin. 'Oi! Shoo.' I shouted. I was barefoot so I had no intention of going out there. The fox stopped its sniffing and slowly dropped down onto all fours. They're so brazen these days. It didn't run away, in fact it sat down on its haunches and looked hopeful. So many people feed them that they're pretty tame. Although if this carries on, it'll be a wonder if we don't get a hunt in Brixton. 'Bugger off,' I said. It tilted its head to one side, as if to say 'Oh well', turned and trotted off up the street. I did notice that all the rotten food had gone so at least that was something. Twenty minutes later the phone rang. It was the council again. They wanted to know whether I was pleased with the service I had received. 'What do you mean received? I haven't seen hide nor hair of you yet.' 'But sir, we have a report from our Waste Disposal Operative Rusty that the situation has been resolved.' 'Resolved? All I've seen is some mangy fox gobble up the rubbish.' 'Exactly sir.' 'What? You mean that flea bitten fox ...' 'WDO Rusty' 'Come again' 'I'd prefer if you didn't refer to council employees or subcontractors in such terms sir. WDO Rusty is the correct term.' 'Are you telling me, telling me that the council employs foxes to collect rubbish?' 'No sir.' 'Well thanks goodness for that.' 'No sir, we subcontract food waste disposal and the LVC put in the lowest bid.' 'LVC?' 'London Vulpine Collective.' 'Vulpine, as in Vulpes Vulpes, the red or urban fox.' 'I believe so sir, although I understand the LVC also has some voles on its payroll.' 'Voles?' 'Yes sir. Not an easy thing for them to ally with the foxes but they can fit down small pipes and drains and are much more eco-friendly than industrial detergents and less likely to damage the pipes than a high-pressure water jet.' 'Give me it a rest. You're sitting in a bloody call centre in Milton Keynes or New Delhi or the 100 Acre Wood or wherever. What next? Bears dealing with swarms of bees? 'No sir, there are no bears in Southwark. Lambeth snapped them all up before we got a look in.' 'But there are no bears in England.' 'No English bears sir, these came here in 2007 when Romania joined the EU. I put the phone down. There was a woodpecker on a telephone pole. Was it looking for bugs or working for BT?
