Plastic

The torrent of small plastic objects kept coming down the cliff. The house would be covered within an hour if it didn’t stop. She went to the shed and grabbed her bicycle. What on earth… who on earth was spewing all that rubbish? It was little Disney Princess figurines, it was food packaging, it was Tupperware and plastic cutlery in all colours of the rainbow. It was utter crap.

She had lived in the house by the sea for many years. Her youngest son, had moved to the big city to attend university. Her eldest was a fisherman. She was left with her dog, Mister Nutters, and the urn.

The urn! She had to take it with her in case the whole house was covered by this plastic deluge. Mister Nutters whined. Something was really wrong. He usually didn't turn a hair on his large body – he even ignored the burglars last spring. Was it a family that had taken all their plastic to the sea to get rid of it? But there were several tonnes. It had to be a rubbish lorry – was that how they got rid of all the recycled plastic they collected in the big cities?

She cycled up the steep, winding track that led from her house to the main road with the urn strapped to the luggage rack. Mister Nutters was in a very bad mood. She worked the pedals. She was strong – had cycled every day to the little town up the coast to shop and sell the oysters she farmed on the long pier.

Mister Nutters was a Great Dane of enormous proportions. He was a gentle dog, but today he was restless and ran five to six metres in front of the bike. Suddenly he started barking and picked up speed. He disappeared around the corner by the coastal road. When she reached the road she could finally see what was wrong. A huge circus clown, far bigger than her house – the size of the town hall, more like – was on his knees vomiting over the edge of the cliff. He was dressed in red and he stank like hell.