Guardian: I'm running after the bin truck, pre-caffeinated, bleary-eyed and in a barely acceptable state of dress, which is my usual Monday morning ritual. In the panic that follows the familiar noise of my neighbour's bins being emptied (almost always it's the sound of beer bottles), I grab the general waste bin and leave the recycled one. My neighbours, I have noticed, are not the recycling type, and beer bottles mean that I have almost certainly missed the recycled waste collection.
The consequence of...