Bernard O'Shea: A guide to your compost bin

Little brown bin, oh little brown bin,

Smallest refuse collector —

I have a confession. (Pronounce it “confesinn”)

I haven’t been using you lately,

Mostly because I’m lazy,

I have scraped food into the big plastic bin liner,

When I should really be kinder,

To break it down is your skilful suit,

But wait, my son is saying something!

“It looks like zombie puke.”

Suppose you’re unfamiliar with the brown bin. In that case, your waste company generally provides a small bin for all your organic waste. But it does cause a dilemma for me.

I like the rule of three. Some of the most essential things in life come in threes. Good luck comes in threes, how we eat (breakfast, lunch, dinner), even the big fella up in the sky is supposed to be a three-man band, and of course, the bins come in blue, green, and brown (depending on your provider).

But I find the brown bin a pain in the kitchen. Every time I scrape the dinners into the main bin, it’s too late to realise I’ve dumped in the organic waste. I also don’t like the smell of the organic bin either. I know it’s an actual planetary lifesaver. Still, regardless of what carbon capture amazing odourless bin I’ve bought over the years, it can never contain its unique aroma.

So when my son was determined to get his environmental badge in Beavers, we did it by composting our waste in an old compost container in the back garden. We set up the bin, gathered all the suitable materials, and got to work.

For two months, I was delighted that I had a new home for our green waste outside the kitchen. My son was also deviously happy that he could sit and watch Robot Wars, knowing that by doing nothing, only putting “rubbish in the back garden”, he was contributing to the environment. Sometimes, he thought he was the senior infant equivalent of Greta Thunberg.

As we started to dump our organic waste into our new “Dalek” shaped friend, I learned that not all materials are created equal. Some items are composting title contenders, like vegetable scraps, fruit peelings, coffee grounds, tea bags, and eggshells — they’re high in nutrients and perfect for your soil. But some materials are composting relegation fodder — meat, dairy products, bones, and pet waste like dog faeces or cat litter should never be added to your compost pile.

And don’t even think about adding synthetic fabrics or plastics — they’re like composting villains, releasing harmful chemicals into the soil. Stick to the good stuff, and you’ll be a composting king or queen in no time! Or, if you want, you can anoint yourself with a potato peel crown and pronounce yourself Emperor.

Composting is a simple yet impactful way to reduce your carbon footprint. By diverting food scraps and organic materials from landfills, you can create nutrient-rich soil for your garden while reducing greenhouse gas emissions. Methane gas, a potent contributor to global warming, is produced when organic matter decomposes in landfills without a proper oxygen supply. Composting prevents this, promotes healthy plant growth, prevents soil erosion, and conserves water. However, mixing them and adding water to keep the compost moist is essential. Of course, I didn’t do this.

After two months, we opened the compost container to find “zombie puke,” as Tadhg called it. He suggested making a zombie film.

However, upon closer inspection, we found a tiny plant growing from the compost. It had transformed into a miniature ecosystem with snails and worms creating a home for backyard wildlife. I recommend composting if you plan on making zombie movies and earning environmental badges. The only scary thing wasn’t the zombie puke, but the amount of food we were throwing out. Our homemade compost was costly. How much uneaten food went into our newly- found movie prop frightened me. But that is for another sustainable day’s work.