West Lothian residents fume 'why do we need to book quiet recycling centres?'

A booking system was introduced during the Covid pandemic for reasons of social distancing.
The need for resident to book time slots to visit West Lothian recycling sites has been questioned by a local councillor.
A booking system was introduced during the Covid pandemic for reasons of social distancing.
‌
The council's Executive decided two years ago to introduce a full-time booking system for the sites to coincide with the reduced hours at the recycling centres.
‌
Broxburn's SNP councillor Mike Carlin said the question of the continued need for booked slots to use the recycling centres had been raised by constituents at a community council.
Questions he had been asked why the slots were needed post Covid.
Discussing the work of Operational Services which includes the CRC sites and cleansing team at the Environment and Sustainability PDSP Councillor Carlin asked: 'Why are we still having to book slots at the recycling centres.?'
He added: 'This question came up at a community council. Now we're through Covid and going through a quiet period. Why are we still having to book slots at the recycling centres?'
Fellow SNP councillor Veronica Smith asked: 'The feedback is that the centres are very quiet so that's why the questions were asked about why we need to book.'
Head of Operational Services David Maule, said: 'The reason for having a booking system is to ensure we have a safe environment for staff and members of the public, with moving traffic.'
‌
'I've looked at the usage figures, they are all fairly busy. I'm not sure they get too many quiet times. I think there are very good reasons for safety that we should maintain the booking system at centres.'
The current booking system was confirmed in October 2023, at the same time as hours at the five recycling centres were reduced as part of cutbacks to save £330,000.
Councillors have also argued that many people without transport are losing out on the service because they cannot access the recycling centres on foot. At local area committees recently the surge in fly-tipping around communal bin areas has also been highlighted
‌
Mr Maule's predecessor as head of Operational Services had argued at the time that the service would be improved because people would not have to sit in traffic queues to get into the centres.
Following initial closure during the Covid lockdown some centres notably Oakbank at Livingston saw massive traffic tailbacks which needed police control.
Councillor Carlin's local CRC suite at Broxburn, along with neighbouring Linlithgow, had its opening hours cut back considerably. Across the county the centres are open for 144 hours a week - down from 280. Both Linlithgow and Broxburn are only open one day during the week and on afternoons or mornings at the weekends.
‌
For Broxburn the opening hours are: 10am to 6pm Thursday, 2pm to 6pm on Saturday and 10am to 2pm Sunday.
The changes were met with sustained complaints initially. However in June last year the Local Democracy Reporting Service reported: 'Despite the cut in hours introduced last October and the introduction of the booking system there's been no loss of customers with 191,000 bookings made between October and April.
More than 13,000 people booked slots at West Lothian's recycling centres but never turned up with their rubbish.

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Learn with AIFact CheckingText to SpeechAI Summary

Related Articles

The Guardian

4 hours ago

• The Guardian

The moment I knew: as I signed the waiver for his emergency brain surgery, I felt pure devotion

In 2022, I was going through motions. I was burned out after shepherding two restaurants through Melbourne's Covid lockdowns and emotionally burned to the ground by a failed marriage. It had been a big few years; I had sworn off love and was taking life slowly. Despite all this, in late spring I found myself chatting online with a charming gardener-cum-physicist called Scott. A few weeks later, our first phone call lasted until the sun came up. I had been captivated by his boundless capacity for a chat but I didn't hear from him for a few weeks after that. I wondered if it was because I'd asked him on more than one occasion to pipe down so I could contribute to the conversation, or if my cynical side had made an unflattering appearance in my wine haze. But no love was lost, Scott reappeared a few weeks later and we recommenced our correspondence with vigour. On New Year's Day 2023 I invited him over. It was another all-nighter of nonstop chatting and we talked at length about the dire state of my garden. A couple of weeks later he showed up completely unannounced, secateurs in hand, ready to tackle it. What I've learned about Scott since is that his love language is very much 'acts of service'. He is so happy to help anyone with their annoying tasks; he just loves being helpful. But of course my first encounter with his knight-in-shining-armour routine made me feel very special indeed. Unfortunately, in my shame, I'd already paid someone to get my yard in shape (not that I admitted the outsourcing to him). Impressed by the work I hadn't done and hellbent on making himself useful, Scott decided he'd clean out the gutters. We got up on the roof and worked together – Scott doing the dirty work and me climbing up and down the ladder with the bucket. Sharing this mundane task was an unexpected bonding experience. We'd later talk about how seen and safe we felt in each other's company that day. It's gone down in the annals of our relationship as 'Gutter Day'. He moved in about six months later. I couldn't believe myself, the dainty goth courting a gruff tradesman. I began working at a bar and we continued to livestream our thoughts via text while he was at home and I flirted with strangers and upsold wanky wines. Just a few weeks later, in late June, I came home to find Scott sleeping. We'd always chat over a nightcap together before retiring, so this was unusual. But he'd been working hard so I didn't worry too much until the following day. When he was still drowsy the next evening, something felt off. I called our neighbour Michelle, an emergency nurse, who suggested we go to hospital. By the time we arrived Scott was struggling to string a sentence together and was whisked away within moments of being triaged. When they wheeled him back post-MRI, he was soft, tired and looking so vulnerable. Then the news came that Scott had a 1.1cm subarachnoid aneurysm on his brain that had been haemorrhaging for maybe 24 hours. I went as white as a sheet but it quickly became apparent that I was going to have to save my emotional breakdown for later, step up, contact his family (whom I'd never met) and make some extremely high-stakes decisions about his treatment path. It was then and there, as I was confronted with the idea that I might lose him, that I knew I could not be without him. As I nervously signed the waiver, I felt pure devotion. Scott's surgery went well but he was placed in an induced coma for a few days. When he came to he had zero filter. That rawness could have revealed a darker side but instead I got confirmation that even at his most uncensored, Scott is kind and caring to the core. One of his most vivid hallucinations, which he told me about in detail, involved him spending the entire night helping the nurses catch up on their paperwork. Scott came home two months later and, while his recovery wasn't without its frustrations and challenges, the mere thought of being anywhere else didn't cross my mind. Of course there were days I could have slept in the garden in a tent just to get a break from his incessant chatting but I knew I would never, ever leave him. He was my guy, no matter how many times I had to repeat myself, or listen to him repeat himself! Two years on, Scott has pretty much fully recovered and is still the same gorgeous dork I fell in love with. We spend our days pottering in the garden, or at the stove, or by the fire on cold nights. The dark days seem like another life but they weren't – they were just the beginning of ours. Do you have a romantic realisation you'd like to share? From quiet domestic scenes to dramatic revelations, Guardian Australia wants to hear about the moment you knew you were in love. Your contact details are helpful so we can contact you for more information. They will only be seen by the Guardian. Your contact details are helpful so we can contact you for more information. They will only be seen by the Guardian.

Telegraph

10 hours ago

• Telegraph

Eating dinner at 10pm is nothing short of pyschopathic

Almost everything about Covid was bad, obviously. The virus itself, the pain it inflicted across the world, the restrictions on individual liberty, and the banging of pots with wooden spoons on our doorsteps every Thursday evening (astonishing to think this is the country that came up with Magna Carta, and yet over 800 years later we'd regressed to the point where we decided to show our appreciation by behaving like deranged toddlers with a set of kitchen equipment). On the other hand, it shifted our body clocks forward a bit, did it not? It did for me, anyway. Pre-Covid, an 8pm table booking was no problem. Splendid, in fact. Dinner out with friends, nothing could be lovelier. Post-Covid, it seemed mad. Practically wanton. Be out at that time, away from my home? Only sitting down for dinner at 8pm? What is this, Spain? Now, if I'm meeting pals for supper, I generally try to get away with a 7.30 booking, although ideally 7pm. That allows plenty of time for chit-chat but means we can still be in bed by 10. If friends are coming over for dinner, I often say to them airily 'any time from 6.30' in the hope this means I might be tucked up with my book even earlier. At any sign of lingering over the coffee and bag of Minstrels, I start loading the dishwasher. It's enormously relaxed, an evening with me. Last November, while having dinner with friends in New York – 'the city that never sleeps' – I practically fell asleep at the table because our reservation was for 9pm (although I suspect jet lag and the three margaritas before dinner didn't help matters much). But a friend across the pond says there's been a more general shift to earlier eating even there. And yet there remain among us a good number of psychopaths who want to eat at 10.30pm, or even later. I'm not referring to our southern European friends; various London restaurants have recently announced that they're opening reservation slots for later tables. Mountain, a Soho restaurant where I once tried tripe (not for me), is now offering punters the chance of a slot at 10.30pm. Tomos Parry, the co-founder and chef of Brat, a very trendy Shoreditch restaurant, says he's noticed late-night diners creeping back. If you fancy a plate of extremely spicy noodles, you can book a table at Speedboat Bar, an excellent Thai restaurant also in Soho, until 12.30am on Friday and Saturday nights. This has been hailed as a 'late-night dining revolution', which I don't remember Marx banging on about much. Restaurateurs are, naturally, delighted. Times are hard, getting punters in to eat is challenging, especially when everyone's on the fat jabs, so if they can keep throwing out plates until the wee hours for those who do want to eat, so much the better. Jeremy King, restaurant impresario, has recently unveiled a new late-night menu at his new-ish joints, The Park and Arlington. Book a table after 9.45pm and you get 25 per cent off. Notably, these are all fairly central London restaurants, and I wonder how many of their late-night clientele live reasonably close. Or at least only one zone away. Well-heeled sorts who don't baulk at the price of fillet steak and can totter home or hail a black cab for a fare under a tenner. Because if you book a table at 10.30pm, you're not going to be heading home much before midnight. The trains have stopped running back to my parts by then. There's the odd night bus if I don't mind two hours crawling southwards, or it'll be a £50 Uber. Bed by 1am, maybe, which isn't hugely practical if you have to work for a living, or have small children, or a small and unruly terrier who demands his first outing to the park at 6am. That's to say nothing of the potential digestion issues. I don't wish to be indelicate, but can one get a good night's kip if you hit the pillow with a stomach full of tripe after midnight? As Pepys himself once surmised: 'I did eat very late at night, which I perceive makes me feel heavy and sleepy.' Quite. Experts quoted in health articles constantly extol the health benefits of intermittent fasting, or restricting one's eating to an eight- or 10-hour window. But good luck with that if you're swallowing your last mouthful of crispy egg noodles after Cinderella's curfew. No more for you until at least lunchtime the following day. Many years ago, one late night as a teenager, I sat across a table from a boy I had a crush on in a restaurant called Vingt-Quatre on the Fulham Road. It had opened in 1995, London's first 24-hour restaurant, and the novelty was thrilling. The novelty of sitting near a boy, I mean, although the restaurant was pretty thrilling too. We shared a burger and the bill came with a small pot of Smarties, which seemed the height of ironic decadence. He paid and afterwards walked me back through the dark streets of Chelsea to put me on the N137 home to Stockwell, so it was a relatively chaste evening. Not the sort of thing that gets poets excited. But it felt practically Byronic to me – the late night, the Smarties, the slow meander to the Sloane Street bus stop. I swooned about it for months once safely back at boarding school. I understand it, in other words. I understand that late-night dining can be exciting, and romantic, possibly even a little dangerous if your alarm is going off soon. But my appetite for danger must have waned in the intervening 23 years because dicey behaviour these days means going to sleep after 11pm. Perhaps this is more to do with age than Covid. Or both. Still, if restaurants are increasingly catering for daredevils who wish to risk indigestion and trapped wind, those of us who prefer 7pm tables may stand more of a chance. Or maybe even 6.30pm. Could you make 6.30?

Glasgow Times

11 hours ago

• Glasgow Times

River restoration works in Lennoxtown given approval

East Dunbartonshire Council's planning committee discussed an internally submitted planning application which proposed the work, which is part of a larger project to restore the ecological and physical condition of the river, which is a tributary of the River Kelvin. The works include the removal of hard banking at five locations, which will allow the river to flood more naturally, improving the habitat for wildlife and the general condition of the river. Sections of embankment are also to be removed, which will allow the river to inundate its floodplain on a more natural cycle, every one or two years. This will improve the transfer of sediments and reduce the amount of silt in the water, benefiting the growth of rare habitat such as wetlands and wet woodland. Two shallow ponds, known as scrapes, will be formed between the river and the John Muir Way path. These will improve water retention in the floodplain and create wetlands for the benefit of wildlife. READ MORE: New plan for landmark city centre building - here are the details Large wooden structures will be placed to stabilise the banks, extending at least eight metres into the river channel, again supporting the transportation of sediment. One relic of the area's industrial past will be removed, that being the remains of the collapsed Graystanes Weir. It has been targeted as it is causing erosion along the banks of the river and putting the John Muir Way path at risk while also obstructing fish migration. The safety of the Strathkelvin Railway Path is also currently under threat due to erosion of the north bank of the river, so a protective wooden structure will be installed. This will consist of two tiers of tree trunks with root plates. A smaller structure will also be erected on the south side of the river where bank erosion has resulted in the loss of some farmland and the landowner requested assistance. Tree management is also an element of this planned work, with selected tree felling and planting as well as the removal of invasive plant species such as Japanese Knotweed, Himalayan Balsam and Rhododendrons. A report to the committee from council officers recommended granting permission for the works, subject to a list of conditions, but the council had also received 73 objections during the application's consultation period. READ MORE: Are refugees given priority for social housing in Glasgow? Many of the objectors cited concerns over flood risk to properties with 77 points about this listed in the report, while other issues raised related to the impact on ancient woodland, the effect on habitat and wildlife, risks of spreading invasive species to other areas, risk of contamination due to the presence of pollutants from the area's industrial past, wider aspects of health and safety, the effect on nearby footpaths, opposition to removing the weir, the handling of the planning process, and more. As the committee considered the report, Councillor Paul Ferretti (SNP, Bishopbriggs North & Campsie) moved to refuse the application while convener Callum McNally (Labour, Lenzie & Kirkintilloch South) supported the recommendation in the report that it should be granted subject to conditions. Part of the report read: 'The proposed development will to an extent change the character of the site and of the woodland that it contains, including the Ancient Woodland, over the longer term, in view of the proposed river restoration works. 'However, it is considered that this change in character will have a positive impact on the site and of the natural environment that it contains, in terms of improving its resilience to climate change and in terms of the benefits that this will have in improving and enhancing its ecological diversity, improving water quality and improving the management of the woodland environment.' Councillor Ferretti said he was opposed to the application due to the impact it would have in the short term on the Glazert Valley area, as well as the ancient woodland and also the removal of the weir which he considered a historic asset to the village. In the resultant vote, nine members voted to grant the application while five voted to refuse.