Wednesday, May 21, 2014


Hate to admit it but Mrs. Snopper and I seem to be the oldest residents of our little enclave here in deepest Kent.   From time to time, like everyone else in the street, we get `charity bags` shoved through our letter box, asking us to donate stuff.   It`s an interesting experience to see what the `charities` are and what they are asking for - anything from British Heart Foundation and other good causes like Save the Children and MacMillan Nurses through to some apparently dodgy ones like the one allegedly supporting Mongolian hill farmers.   Yeah, right.

Trouble is, most of them seem a bit fussy about the stuff they`re prepared to take off our hands - some only want clothing, others say no bric-a-brac or no books or no electrics, no throat-singing manuals or flat pack yurts.  So it was a refreshing change to get a bag from Age Concern UK who were keen to take just about anything.  We duly took advantage of their felicitous pleading and filled their bag with clothing, books and assorted bric-a-brac and put the bag outside for collection on the appointed morning.

Now our street is much like any other - a good mix of people, age groups and occupations - but come the morning for the Age Concern bags to be collected and what do I find?   Yes, you`ve guessed it.   The only bag put out for collection was the one from the oldest couple in the street, which is irony in itself, of course, but especially so when we aged couple have given loads of stuff to the one organisation who are supposed to be concerned about us.

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