IT was the sofa I spotted first, half-blocking the path through the woods. The faded burgundy material was already soggy, its velvet arms glistening with beads of rainwater. A scattering of cushions lay nearby, a matching armchair on its back a short distance away.

Nor was that all. A grubby mattress partly straddled the burn. There was a small fridge tipped on one side beside a forlorn-looking trampoline with burst springs and a teetering pile of guttering, rusty pipes and splintered wood.

I noted the fresh tyre marks in the mud. I'm no Nancy Drew but all signs pointed to someone who had driven as far as they could from the nearby road, tossed everything out and made a swift getaway. This unwanted gubbins was now somebody else's problem.

It has struck me lately that dumping junk has become a national pastime. Since lockdown began, the social media pages of local authorities have been inundated with complaints about household waste and recycling centres – to give them their proper Sunday name – being temporarily closed.

People love their local tip. You can almost hear a Braveheart-esque rallying cry echoing over lochs and mountains and suburban streets: "They may take away our freedom, but they'll never take our coups!"

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The good news is that the hallowed skips are back. Many recycling centres have reopened in recent weeks, albeit with a list of more complex conditions than an A-list rock band hammering out a dressing room rider.

In this instance, rather than demanding a bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones picked out, it is decreeing that plastic and wood are allowed but no metal, garden waste or rubble.

It's a patchy picture throughout Scotland. Some require appointments. Others are closed on weekends.

People are desperate to get rid of things. This, in turn, has led to a huge rise in fly-tipping – abhorrent and inexcusable behaviour.

As charity shops begin to reopen across the country, many are said to be braced for an influx of donations that have been gathering dust in cupboards and garages over the past few months.

If you stacked all the bin bags filled by folk channelling their inner Marie Kondo to declutter unwanted items around the home since lockdown started in March, they would reach the moon and back several times over (I would guess).

Wherever possible I try to upcycle. Shoogly decking has been dismantled and repurposed to build raised beds. I've taken apart an old vegetable rack and turned it into hanging baskets. Old pallet wood has been given a new lease of life as a potting bench in a homemade polytunnel.

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This has its limits. I doubt that even if you assembled a crack squad with every Blue Peter presenter in history, The A-Team, Krypton Factor contestants, Anneka Rice and Elon Musk they could devise a new use for a broken swing ball set, two bald tyres and a leaking hose. Any suggestions let me know.

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