No Smoke Without Fire: The Truth Behind Wheelie Bin Arson

So here we are again, binthusiasts. Wheelie bin fires – the most guilty and inexplicable pleasure of Man. When will this chaos end?

It’s true we’ve already covered this hottest of topics in our previous blog entry, though in light of a further series of bin burnings, and with local tabloids across the country going into absolute meltdown, we feel obliged to revisit it. Why are so many separate incidences of wheelie bin arson occurring so frequently, and in vastly different parts of the country? What is it in the human psyche that is so drawn to this most forbidden of fruit? These are questions that we probably won’t answer here, but rest assured they need answering. Maybe you’ll give it a crack? In the name of the countless wheelie bins we’ve lost to this senseless madness, maybe you’ll give it a crack.

According to The Evening Times, Lanarkshire police have reported a huge increase in wheelie bin fires across the county, urging the public to come forward with any information. A valiant gesture, though a futile one, for if a member of the public is to expose a bin burner they must by extension expose part of their very own soul. They’ll need to bare all in order to do the right thing, like some sort of vigilante flasher – the one crime he couldn’t solve was how to keep his clothes on. The article goes on to say ”The force did not reveal the locations of the deliberate fires”. Far from this being a head-nod to how inept the Jedi are at identifying bin arson, what we see here is a further reluctance to explore the situation… further. This is something that is consistent with regional reporting on the matter: shock and surprise, coupled with sharp distancing of oneself from the grimy truth, similar to a dog that’s both infatuated and sickened by the smell of its own farts.

All jokes to one side, these are serious crimes that in some cases leave very real victims in their wake. The Leicester Mercury has reported that a lady was in need of counselling after a wheelie bin fire spread to a nearby fence and parked car. The article finished by saying that the blaze destroyed the fence and caused 50% of the damage to the parked car – a statement that both conveys how easy it is for these acts to blow up whilst also probing you to wildly speculate about where the other 50% car-damage came from (emotional strain or the work of a disgruntled ex-carfriend?) The bottom line is this needs to stop – you can’t just go around setting other people’s bins on fire it’s really weird.

We’d also like to use this space to commend the efforts of the Evening Telegraph, who’s brave and hysterical death cries serve as the most effective means we have of holding bin arsonists to account – their valiant wails ring true from the brooks of River Dee through to the mountainous breaths of The Torridon Hills. BritishBins fully support any local media outlet that is trying to shine a light on this.

Look after each other and your wheelies everyone, even if we are all just a bunch of dirty bin burners deep down.

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No Smoke Without Fire: The Truth Behind Wheelie Bin Arson

Ray Binstone

Ray Binstone
Ray Binstone: The Proper Naughty Waste-Receptacle Geezer

‘Proper Naughty’.
Hardly a term you would think could ever be associated with a perfectly innocent wheelie bin. Contemporary research shows, and this is according to all of your precious experts-with-acronyms, that public opinion on the disposition of wheelie bins is quite consistent across the land: they’re not crooks. In view of this newfound knowledge (again, knowledge that HAS actually been verified by all your so-called-experts), imagine my surprise when catching up with the weekly happenings, I find that a wheelie bin was one of the integral members of The Hatton Garden Heist gang. Naturally my first reaction was one of disbelief, so sure was I that this was yet another example of the lying, dishonest, FAKE-NEWS, left-eye media hysteria we’ve been seeing of late. Liars and swines. Sadly, reputable outlets with the biggest crowds such as the Bindependent and the hugely successful Breitbin News have reported the same, prompting the question to be asked: Why? For what reason did this bin side with these villains? What false promises did they make? Did the bin even join of its own volition? How was it coerced?
If we’re going to understand how a wheelie bin becomes a deviant these are questions we must answer.

Without justifying the criminal actions of this bin, undoubtedly there is something intoxicating about the image of a self-made bindividual that we must acknowledge; we need only look to the Dime Novels of the late 19th century to see the same cultural obsession with individual freedom driving the sales of paperbounds with all the tenacity of the white men they depicted. After all, there is a reason that the Cowboys who starred in these ephemeral little tales never actually do any proper cowboying: herding cows is incredibly mundane, and it’s not their first choice of profession. The thrill – ah yes the thrill – and the autonomy, sells very well indeed. This isn’t to say that contemporary British depictions of crime share many, or any, stylistic similarities with 19th century American depictions of cowboys, though the cultural success and recurrences of both does speak of something inherently human: the need, however pointless, to be self-governed. Is it fruitless? Possibly. And yet, we all would like to feed on fancy. What makes a wheelie bin so different?

Gazing out from the gutter where the wheelie bins lie,
gazing up and out and on, ever on.
There the wasteful constellations do beckon, and fly,
and sing only Fortune’s song.
Of riches and gain they wistfully chime
in unison, closer now, distinct from the sky;
for they are there too, those mortal crooks,
in the gutter where the wheelie bins shine.

On screen and on the page, Crime is Romance. Wheelie bins of all creeds are already a tragically underrepresented demographic in this genre, and the desire for fair and proportional coverage in the media is as strong as ever amongst the wheelie collective. Was this the act of a desolate bin merely trying to supplant itself into a role callously denied it by wider society? You tell me. At any rate let’s try something. Picture the complete Oeuvre of Ray Winstone; all of his films (don’t act as if you don’t know them all). Now replace every single shot of him with a two-wheeled bin. Mentally, as you read this right now, rewrite Ray Winstone’s entire life with a two-wheeled bin as the lead. And not just Ray Winstone the actor, but Ray Winstone the man too. Do it. Make Ray Binstone a reality. It’s not strange, it’s “an exercise”. The reason the images in your head seem so surreal is because the fake-news-media-films have conditioned you, ceaselessly for years, to believe that wheelie bins can’t be cockney. I know plenty of wheelie bins and, believe me folks, some of them do in fact hail within hearing distance of the bells of St Mary-le-Bow. Is it really any wonder that bins with so little, yet who have all the earthly gains imaginable paraded in front of them at every conceivable moment like some carnivalesque game-show, would subvert the prevailing ethics of the day to attain the very thing they’re told will make them happy? Think about it binthusiasts.

At a risk of romanticising criminality too much, I should state here that absolutely anyone can break the law with minimum effort, just ask any daytime police programme. Regarder l’amalgame néfaste!:

You’ve got tall ones – The Longshank.
You’ve got short ones – The Minor Fret.
You’ve got old ones – The Weathered Rook.
You’ve got cerebral ones – The Subliminal Criminal.
You’ve got obtrusively humorous ones – Snatch Adams.
You’ve got that one guy that likes doing stuff to your toothpaste tubes – Minty Winters.
You’ve got sleepy ones – The Somnolence.

All it takes is doing some stuff and undertaking some actions, physically, with your body, that have been predefined as unlawful. ‘The hand is now using the fingers to grasp and pick this thing up. The hand is now moving toward the pocket of the trousers and whoops – in goes that item, into that pocket. That is a thing that has happened now. The hand and fingers have now done a crime.’ Being a hardened geezer-individual however, that requires a more conscious approach. It’s hard graft. It’s melancholy-fuel. It’s a drunken Steve McFadden’s guttural whisper as he comes at you with a taciturn fury all too often found in the bowels of the inebriated hard man.
Suffice to say, it’s difficult. That said, you put in the graft, knuckle down, persevere and buy the right clobber, there’s no reason you too can’t aspire to those gruffest of heights. You do have to question whether this was the thinking that ultimately led to this bins Shakespearian downfall. Oh the hubris of bin.

Ray Binstone