In the Skip

Bob Brague, also known as Rhymes with Plague, inquires "What is a skip?" So here we have the skip that's currently outside our house, and my husband Stephen beginning to fill it with junk.

In the background is my mother's house (which is next to our house) and to the right is the picturesque ivy-clad garage, which used to be a stable and is steadily heading in the direction of becoming a large heap of bricks.

I don't know what Americans would call a skip - but this one cost £120 for a week. You can get smaller ones - this one is approximately the size of Texas, though does look slightly smaller on this photo I admit.

The skip arrives on a big lorry. If you don't have a drive to park it on, it's put outside your house and all your neighbours sneak out at dead of night and fill it with their old sofas and dead cats.

If you do have a drive, like we do, the skip is plonked on the drive and we put lots of junk inside it. Then, at dead of night, my mother sneaks out and removes half of it "That broken chair could come in really useful."

When it's full, or at the end of the time you've hired it for, whichever is the sooner, you ring them and they come and collect it.

Ahhhhhh. It's SO satisfying.

But it's a constant battle. Because I believe that the people who rent out skips have a Cunning Plan.

At the dead of night they break into your house and put it all back again. We've lived here since 1999. I've hired a huge skip at least once every year. The amount of junk never seems to get any less. Hmmmm.