We were driving down to the tip at Great Northern Terrace and passed an old man pushing a handcart. All we had was an old carpet. The handcart was piled high with what looked like bits of an old boiler with its steel chimney. He held a steady pace – looked as if he must have been pretty fit.
He belonged in a Hovis advert really, with his flat cap firmly on his head and a look of determination on a timeworn face. I almost felt guilty driving past him. He must have come a fair old distance as there were no houses nearby and here we were in the car with just a measly bit of carpet. Did I say guilty? I think I probably meant inadequate.
We got to the tip and disposed of the carpet in the appropriate hopper. As we were leaving the dump the old man arrived at the entrance, no letup in his speed. We drove off. I wouldn’t recognise him again, unless perhaps he was pushing a handcart, with that same flat cap.