I am lucky enough to live in a small village in rural Perthshire and whilst not quite in the middle of nowhere, it’s at least a half hour in any direction before I’d stumble across a McDonalds. Now that alone should add more to the value of a house than having a Waitrose in the postcode and even though the nearest one of them is in Stirling, I still reckon my small corner in the shire of Perth is pretty much next to priceless.
Despite this rural idyll, I encounter the brown paper bags adorned with the golden arches logo and accompanying detritus strewn along the edges of the road that cuts through the village with disappointing and increasing regularity. It’s not like Ronald McDonald is responsible for all the rubbish occupying the verges and ditches but his packaging is perhaps the one that stands out and bewilders me most – as I can’t foresee any way possible for the contents to have been anything other than stone cold by the time they were consumed – presumably a few short seconds before the remnants were tossed from a passing car.
Being a naturally picturesque part of the world, this wee bit of hill and glen also attracts plenty walkers (with and without dogs – and we’ll get to the latter of them shortly), cyclists, horses and riders, and when the snow falls even the occasional skier to the surrounding hills. By and large there is no shortage of parking and I’m delighted to see the car parks almost continuously full and especially at the weekends and bank holidays.
However, like the bins in the lay-bys along the nearby A9 and as far as I can see along all our major roads, the refuse receptacles in all the car parks are nothing short of a scandal. We can leave their size and capacity for another day but in a country lashed with wind, expecting open sided containers to, well contain, much of the contents dumped in them is optimistic indeed. The end result is the surrounding area of every bin and for hundreds of yards beyond looks like it been attacked by flocks of ravenous seagulls dropping hand grenades inside. Curiously though the famous burger chain trash is rarely there. Those delights are spared for a few miles down the road, as eating a cold burger and fries beside a manky bin is way beyond the pale for even the hungriest litter lout.
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But when it comes to the crème de la crème of delights that particular crown is claimed by dog walkers who go to the trouble of picking up after their pooches only to tie the full parcels to the nearest fence or tree. Politeness prevents me from properly describing what I think of such practices but any political party that would legislate to punish such mind-numbing stupidity by flaying the bare soles of the offender’s feet with a stout length of garden hose, would get my vote tomorrow.
A few months ago, an old touring caravan was abandoned in one of the well-used parking laybys in the area and predictably it sat there for a few weeks as its general state of repair declined. The council stuck a removal warning notice on it rather than actually removing it, and lo a few weeks later still it mysteriously combusted leaving nothing but the chassis and a ring of scorch-marked tar and grass in its stead. I was half expecting a new housing development to spring up in its place but then I remembered I didn’t live in Glasgow any more and suspicious fires aren’t a mandatory pre-requisite for of any development proposals outwith our largest city.
I’ve also noticed more and more over recent months that the problem of fly-tipping – which almost every farmer, crofter, or land owner has experienced at some time, is becoming a feature that’s increasingly creeping into the rest stops and parking places of our main roads. Fridges, mattresses, chairs, cushions, duvets, tyres and so much more are slowly but surely becoming landmarks on any journey of any distance. Quite why anyone would be prepared to go through the rigmarole of loading their car with their junk and then not taking it to the local tip is quite a head-scratcher but whatever the motivation, a bonnie Scotland it does not help make.
Consider too that many who live along the more remote areas of the NC500 route around the Highlands face the even greater problem of human waste in almost any space that’s capable of having a campervan or car squeezed onto it. Stop anywhere to take that Instagram snap and you risk trampling in turds and toilet paper to make the moment even more unforgettable. Not only will it take your breath away, it could empty the contents of your stomach too. Truly memories to cherish.
The scourge of litter and graffiti has been a growing problem across our towns and cities for some time now and the finger of responsibility often gets pointed at council cut backs and a throwaway culture. Of course there is more than can and should be done in terms of the actual infrastructure. Many many of us are familiar with the submerged bins used extensively across the continent. Not only do they provide vastly greater capacity, they are as effective at keeping the smell of rubbish which would otherwise be baking in the sun at bay as they would be keeping the howling winds and squawking gulls from scattering their contents to cascade through the street. Their adoption here should be a no brainer - which is probably why we won’t see them.
We cannot afford to become complacent to the real problems caused by the increases in rubbish strewn all around us. The appearance of our high streets is as important as the appearance of our open spaces and villages. A bit of prioritising of civic pride would do none of us any harm and maybe just maybe we can start to see a nation on the up and one prepared to take care of itself and not simply expecting the state – big and small – to do everything for us.
Calum Steele is a former General Secretary of the Scottish Police Federation, and former general secretary of the International Council of Police Representative Associations. He remains an advisor to both
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