Rubbish and misunderstanding

I have been looking out of my front window. Yesterday a car whizzed down the road, jammed on its brakes and reversed to the parking of the flats opposite. Passenger got out, opened the boot, took out a big rubbish bag and put it into the big brown bin belonging to the flats.
The next day a different car did exactly the same manoeuvre.

Do they not like having rubbish in their own bins? Are they dumping toxic waste? Why would people travel around with a full rubbish bag in their boot (bit of the car from rear windscreen to rear number plate).
I thought that perhaps it could be that they live where there is so much snow, to refuse collection could not get to them. Also I remember seeing this happen last summer.
“Cherie, can you take me for a drive around town this afternoon?” “Doen’t be stupide Matilde, you know I always take the been bag out for a speen on Mercredis. Regardes
-toi the calendrier on ze wall”
While I have been talking rubbish, a couple of fellow bloggers Michelle and JNNR whose travails I follow have been agonising over weightier topics ranging from kitchen rehab, middle agedness / of the roadness, and looking like their mothers. I have been letting the side down.
GREAAAT! That is what blokes are for. We provide the light relief that make life worth living. The light, to the shade etc.

To clear up a recent case of mistaken identity.
This is a photo of my neighbour’s wife

This is a photo of Madame. It is easy to tell them apart as my neighbour’s wife does not have a bush. If you look carefully in

the top left you might be able to see Madame's dil

and some of her other herbs.

I would like to take this opportunity to warmly welcome a new lurker to my blog. Hello to NB, whose son O saw his first snow recently. Ah! The excitement of it all.