The Compost Bin

I am now the owner of a part built compost bin, thanks to a neighbouring plot holder, Lou. Yesterday he interrupted my weeding reverie by calling out that "We had a meeting last night, and all the plot holders must now have a compost bin; which, I see you don't."

He paused, gently kicking some tufts of grass, and asked "What are you going to do about it?"

I explained that whilst I didn't have a compost bin, I did have a compost heap, which was a step in the right direction; and that I had two pallets at home waiting to be converted into a compost bin: I just needed two more. He then surprised me by offering to donate the two pallets needed, and assemble them for me, to which I agreed and thanked him. "That's really kind of you Lou. Thanks."

As I look at it today, the compost bin is now five pallets strong, and growing. The tidy, uniform side of the pallets faces in, the irregular, shabby side facing out. The pallets are held together with various planks of wood, some of questionable ownership. As far as I can work out (as Lou is hard to interpret sometimes) a fellow plot holder made off with some of Lou’s wood, so Lou stole it back and is now building my bin from it, for which the charge will be “fifteen pounds for the wood, ten pounds for the labour”.

And I thought it was just a friendly gesture.

As I appeared to be paying for it I thought It would be OK to contribute some thoughts about the design.

"Can the three sides be the same height please,” I asked, “and can the tops be level? And can the front section come off, rather than be nailed shut?"

These may seem simple requests but having taken a minute or two to inspect Lou's compost bin, they were important points to clarify.

After much rumbling and protestation about what was needed, and what he considered pointless, Lou wandered off and returned with a nice new gate/fence panel to use as the bin's front. This made me feel much better about the fifteen pound charge for the wood, but i couldn't help but wonder, what was I getting myself into here? "Lou,” I said, “I'm not going to find myself in the middle of something here, am I?"

He stopped hammering for a moment and pointed at me with a galvanised nail. "If anyone asks you anything, you tell them you built it yourself! Or, to mind their own bloody business!"

"I won't be doing that, Lou,” I said, “ I'll say a friend built it, if a stranger asks. But look," I said, pointing at someone walking past, "Other people have seen you building this for me today. There's no secret here." He laughed and motioned me away with a wave of his hammer, loudly muttering, as he returned to his work. Malcolm, the chairman of the allotment committee approached us, his eyes taking in the scene: Lou, the compost bin, the planks and the offcuts of wood strewn across the public path. He looked at me seriously, and, touching my arm, whispered in my ear: "If he bothers you at all, you will let me know, won't you?"