December 29, 2019

On rubbish – and revenge?

For many years my morning dog walks have also included cleaning up the roadside verges of assorted rubbish carelessly tossed out of car windows by locals or visitors driving around the neighbourhood.

It started one Clean-Up Australia weekend when, unable to attend the official clean-up in town due to working, I decided to take a bag with me while walking our then-dog, and pick up the litter lying along the road. It was quite an education. The bag quickly filled and I returned home for a couple more. Left the dog behind this time and set off again, and again I didn’t have to walk far before the bags were full.

Since that weekend over twenty years ago I try always to have a bag in my jacket pocket and it’s quite depressing how swiftly they are filled – although not as quickly as on that first rubbish-collecting foray. Occasionally there have been a few challenging, and poignant, variations on the typical bottles, cans, chip packets, etc. The other day involved one of those variations, and leaves me pondering the puzzle, and wondering why. There has to be a story there somewhere.

The items in question were cassette tapes and their cases. Lots of them. Mostly in bits. Lots of them, mostly with the tape ripped out, which streamed and shimmered in the morning sun on the road in a tangled mess, so impossible to repair, and certainly impossible to play.

John and I first noticed this trail the day before when we walked Della dog later in the evening when it was cooler. I reckon we picked up around 10 tapes, most of which were ruined. A few were still intact though and potentially still playable. We thought it was odd but it didn’t occur to us there could literally be dozens more. But so it proved.

The next morning my walk took a different route along the same lengthy and semi-rural road where we live, and it wasn’t long before I noticed the cassette trail again. Whoever wanted to destroy these tapes certainly made a good job of it. But the question remained: why? OK so cassettes have largely had their day, but what prompted this decision to so viciously rip them apart and chuck them out like breadcrumbs for what increasingly appeared to be several kilometres along the road, case and all? Why not just dispose of them in the bin back home? Or donate them to a garage sale or charity shop if no longer wanted?

Was this deliberate destruction done in anger? Frustration? Spite? Revenge? The answer to how many cassettes littered the length of the road remains unclear, but I’ve spotted several gracing the verges when driving into town in the days since so the collection was clearly jettisoned over several kilometres.

So what did this presumably valued and much-loved cassette collection include? The answer is a truly eclectic taste in music, ranging from James Last, Richard Clayderman, Robyn Archer, Bach, Rod Stewart, Chris Rea and The Corrs, and includes a number of bands and musicians I’ve never heard of.

All very strange!

 

Share this post on socials

Magni

Fiona's gift

By Anne Layton-Bennett • June 14, 2026
It’s taken far too many months for this marvellous model to grace the dedicated desk space in my office. When Fiona comes to visit next she will be very surprised, and hopefully gratified, that her amazing creative talent is finally on display. We’ve known each other for a very long time, and during the insanely busy time when I was helping to run the flower farm, working part-time in a school library, doing a spot of journalism on the side, and fighting the proposed pulp mill that is the subject of the manuscript I’m hoping to get published, Fiona cleaned my house each week. There’s only so much a person can do after all, and it has to be said cleaning our house during those manic years was fairly low down on the list of my priorities. But Fiona is a woman of many talents and she certainly possesses one that I so don’t have: sewing and dressmaking. So over the years she’s also made a few garments based on the pattern of a favourite garment that I was particularly fond of, and she’s also done some clothing alterations for both of us. My skills with needles and thread are limited to sewing on buttons, and taking up hems on John’s too-long pairs of jeans. Anything else is beyond me. But this fabulous model is the pièce de résistance – along with the beautiful crocheted knee warmer she gave me last year. This was when winter was approaching and so determined was I to finish writing the book, I decided to get out of bed at the insane hour of 5am and get in a solid hour’s writing in before dog walking and the demands of the day took over. Fiona was also one of many Tasmanians who needed to be circumspect about her opinion of the pulp mill. It was a project that polarised people, including families and friendships. She was one of several who passed on snippets of useful information, but on the basis of anonymity so it couldn’t be sheeted home to her.  Needless to say Fiona will be one of those whose contribution will be acknowledged – when this book is finally accepted by a publisher.

Signs of spring - when winter's only just arrived

By Anne Layton-Bennett • June 8, 2026
Early lambing season a sign of changing seasons? Or economic reality?

An amazing autumn

By Anne Layton-Bennett • May 18, 2026
Changing climate is affecting plants, and they are increasingly confused by a warming world. Yet despite the warnings by scientists about the risks of more frequent weather extremes, governments are still failing to act quickly enough.

Latest from my blog...