I've just seen a dustcart go past with a load of cuddly toys stuck on the side. There must be dozens of potential stories in that, ranging from horror to cosy Disney-style family fiction.

Ooh yes...ours has that too, how weird, is it a Dustcart Thing? also the very personalised insides of lorry cabs get me thinking...the ones with curtains with tiebacks and all...

the ones with curtains with tiebacks and all

I think that's just because long-distance lorry drivers often have to sleep overnight at the side of the road.

I assume the dustcart thing might just be to do with toys that they've found discarded and are too soft-hearted to chuck in the crusher.

You can imagine some fanatical "Generation Game" expert sticking other items on the side, as well - teas-mades, briefcases, toasters, and so on - just to evoke the conveyor belt at the end of the programme.

Reminds me of Pam Ayres' poem, the Dolly on the Dustcart. For those of you who, like me, appreciate Ms Ayres' poetry:

I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
I can see you're not impressed,
I'm fixed above the driver's cab,
With wire across me chest,
The dustman see, he noticed me,
Going in the grinder,
And he fixed me on the lorry,
I dunno if that was kinder.

This used to be a lovely dress,
In pink and pretty shades,
But it's torn now, being on the cart,
And black as the ace of spades,
There's dirt all round me face,
And all across me rosy cheeks,
Well, I've had me head thrown back,
But we ain't had no rain for weeks.

I used to be a 'Mama' doll,
Tipped forward, I'd say, 'Mum'
But the rain got in me squeaker,
And now I been struck dumb,
I had two lovely blue eyes,
But out in the wind and weather,
One's sunk back in me head like,
And one's gone altogether.

I'm not a soft, flesh coloured dolly,
Modern children like so much,
I'm one of those hard old dollies,
What are very cold to touch,
Modern dolly's underwear,
Leaves me a bit nonplussed,
I haven't got a bra,
But then I haven't got a bust!

But I was happy in that doll's house,
I was happy as a Queen,
I never knew that Tiny Tears,
Was coming on the scene,
I heard of dolls with hair that grew,
And I was quite enthralled,
Until I realised my head
Was hard and pink... and bald.

So I travel with the rubbish,
Out of fashion, out of style,
Out of me environment,
For mile after mile,
No longer prized... dustbinised!
Unfeminine, Untidy,
I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
And there's no collection Friday.

<Added>

Also reminded me of a row of tiny, old headstones I once saw, leaning in a line against the wall of an ancient Dorset church. One of the saddest sights I've ever seen.

In Toy Story 3, the final fate of the Evil Purple Bear is to be tied to the front of a dustbin lorry...

Love that Pam Ayres!