Interview your favorite fictional character.
I do not believe it. One of the most boring prompts I ever got. Only 55 other bloggers bother with it, which explains how boring it really was. Just because WordPress put a years worth of daily prompts into an online album, it does not give them the right to ignore their bloggers with such repeats. They seem to think that it was really something fantastic to record all the old prompts in an online list, not thinking that some of us had answered the 365 prompts already. How dumb and stupid can you get? And now for something completely different.
No, this is not a bin for used up prompts, although it would be suitable. It is a bin for your doggy if you take a walk with him or her. Yes, we Swiss love order, tidiness and above all cleanliness and so we have these bins distributed along the river bank. They are even supplied with handy plastic bags. I am sure the dog lovers amongst us know how it works. Fido, or whatever he is called, had a natural urge. We all have them sometimes, but we have things called toilets, or you do your best to wait until at home. It is difficult to make it clear to Fido that he has to wait until arriving at home and so you allow him to go ahead. You then take a plastic bag, insert it over your hand, grip the unwanted recycling results with the bag and deposit them in the doggy bin. Humans are happy and Fido could not really care less. The things you see as you take a walk along the river.
If you really want to see how well we organise ourselves in this little country, then see this. These strange metal containers have a purpose. I found them standing next to our local tennis club. Perhaps there is one for discarded tennis balls. They are not Swiss robots spying on the population and recording all movements and thoughts. No they are bins, each for a certain purpose.
“I only accept glass.”
“Who said that?”
“Me, the one at the back on the left.”
“He is such a show off, I am especially reserved for aluminium foil.”
“And what about me, I literally swallow plastic bottles and spit them out again a few months later as a new plastic bottle.”
“I collect old clothes, but make sure they are clean before you throw them in.”
“Just a minute, I can hardly hear myself think. Take it easy, I am sure you all have a meaningful purpose in your lives.”
“Of course we do, but only because of the thoughtlessness of the humans. They would otherwise throw their rubbish unsorted in the bin bags.”
I suppose they are right. On the other hand these super containers are not cheap and neither is the recycling process afterwards. We, the Swiss tax payers, pay for the privilidge of having freshly sorted refuse, all neatly separated waiting for recycling.
Today Mr. Swiss let me out on my own to do the week-end shopping. It must be at least a month, when not more, that I had the steering wheel of a car in my hands, but I remained cool and composed. I was surprised myself that I still knew how it worked. Mr. Swiss was attending the funeral of one of his ex school friends. I also belong to my school site on Facebook and it is tragic when you hear about the demise of a classmate and just a little depressing. As you become older, it happens more often than you would like and you realise how short our stay is in this time and space. Mr. Swiss saw many old acquaintances at the funeral. There will be another class reunion in a couple of weeks he told me.
And now I hear the call of the wild again. My blog is written, the sun is shining and I am in a short sleeved t-shirt mood, so I will put on my walking shoes and go - with a camera of course. This time it will be a solo walk, as Mr. Swiss is still recovering from the morning exhaustion. It will probably be a quick hop to the castle, a short visit to the horses and I have an appointment at the cemetery. There was an interesting ornament I saw, but unfortunately my prize winning attempt was blurred. It was a cold windy day and probably my hands were shivering. I now intend to do a retake of this.
See you all tomorrow with another warmed up boring prompt.