All Quiet on Kojak's Front, a Spectacle, Mysterious Milk and Willy-Nilly Boxes

After my sojourn in western parts I spent a relatively peaceful week, going nowhere and seeing, if not no-one then certainly very few. This may seem boring but I was glad of the unremarkable interlude. The train journeys, as with all long journeys, had resulted in my neck etc. playing up so I was glad that there was nothing which demanded my urgent attention or presence. 
Before I departed for the big city of Bristol I had gone for my biannual eye test. Being a gentleman of a certain age one finds that the small print seems to be getting smaller every year or so. The optician gave his opthalmic opinion that my right eye has deteriorated very slightly but my left eye had actually improved a little. He admitted that this was a very rare occurence. Now I don't wish to cast opthalmic aspersions on Specsavers but it's more likely that they had previously given me the wrong lens. Since I still don't feel up to a longish drive my new specs are languishing in their Preston branch.
On Wednesday my neighbour drew my attention to a litre of milk which had mysteriously appeared on my doorstep. Regular readers of my travails will know that I obtain my milk from a friendly local farmer so it has been a long time since my doorstep was graced with milk. As it was late in the day before the bottle was spotted it was well on it's way to become yoghurt. No-one has called to tout for my milk custom so the mystery remains.

Bin day 7am

Monday dawned and with it the fortnightly attack of the evil recycling binherren. Now it was quite foggy when I extricated my unwilling carcase from the sprung edge 4 drawer etc. in the middle of the night to do battle with them. Would they sneak in under cover of the inclement weather? I could be certain of 3 seperate forays by them so I had to be extra alert. There was an attempt at confusion when the first sortie arrived out of the usual order of battle. I was expecting the green bin brigade when out of the mists emerged a white sack man! The next assault was by the belated green binherren. The morning dragged on with still no sign of the green box troops. I made and ate a nervous breakfast expecting that a sneak attack would be made while I was buttering toast. It was well past midday and I was contemplating a verbal telephone assault on the Oberbinfuhrer when a large grey bin trundled out of the fog. The man propelling it began to empty the various green boxes in Chez Kojak's cul-de-sac. Now you would think that as the boxes no longer had to be taken to the lorry they would  not now be scattered willy-nilly. Not so! Unwilling to take the few steps needed to return the bins from whence they came he practised the art of under arm bowling. Most residents in my little court have the misfortune to be under retirement age and are usually at work so they have no control over such antics but not I, dear reader, not I!  I lurked until he had emptied my green box and then sprang out of hiding. This sounds rather more athletic than it actually was since I merely opened the front door with a flourish and fixed him with a baleful look. It had the desired effect though as he meekly replaced the bin precisely where it had been. Victory was mine... for the next 2 weeks anyway.