Despite the seasonal chill and long dark evening of incipient winter, or as the purist may prefer, very late autumn, a large number foregathered in St Austin's Hall to learn more of the fate of what was our universally beloved Weir Road Dump. Cost was all, asserted our local officer for the disposal of waste, Mr Stranks, with our own kindly Joyce Paton sighing in unhappy agreement.

Good and thoughtful as we, the residents of Wimbledon Park, had been, though considerate and capable in the sorting of waste into bins suitably marked to indicate the nature of the rejected article, the Council, said Mr Stranks, could no longer afford to sustain us in the prodigal ways of re-cycling to which we had all so virtuously become addicted. Granted the Borough did make some money on the resale of our glass of divers hues and none, as well as the re-pulping of our no doubt up-market broadsheets (well nobody was admitting to reading the Sun), it (the Council, not the Sun) could make just as much by our trekking five miles to the nether boundaries of the Borough.

Horror knew few bounds: twice five makes ten and the denizens of Wimbledon Park would add nefarious gases to the environment: what about the dreaded greenhouse effect? The man who thoughtlessly was heard to say that he liked the milder weather come El Nino or high outflowings of combusting hydrocarbons was hushed by his former colleague from St Paul's (music) sitting in front of him. That lady had come to listen to the great theme of the debate and wanted no extraneous counterpoint from him, thank you very much.

Did we want higher rates, gently queried our kindly representative. Did we want holes in the head (other than mouths that is)? The charge to regain our Weir Road dump hesitated but reformed when a thoughtful resident pointed out that we paid far more in Council Taxes than the rest of the Borough and that we therefore deserved more. We were all, claimed Mr Stranks, the victims of history. The G.L.C. extraneous calls of "come back all is forgiven" had sited its dumps without thought for boundaries and Merton had had two dumped on it at either end of the borough. It was all too much. Did we want an efficient caring borough or a prodigal high-spender?