This skip near Twickenham House down East St Helens Street reminded me of the poem by James Fenton.

(For anybody from the the States a “Skip” is a “dumpster”)

I took my life and threw it on the skip,
Reckoning the next-door neighbors wouldn’t mind
If my life hitched a lift to the council tip
With their dry rot and rubble. What you find
With skips is – the whole community joins in.
Old mattresses appear, doors kind of drift
Along with all that won’t fit in the bin
And what the bin-men can’t be fished to shift…