Don't believe the rubbish you hear about binmen!

But what does he know? Everything he says about our boys in green and grey is just a big pile of rotten old garbage.

I can tell you this from experience because at dawn I swapped my Peugeot 306 for a dustcart and went rummaging for the truth in the backstreets of Bolton.

And it was there -- down a cobbled alley in Deane -- where I discovered that my neighbour knows less about refuse collectors than I knew about wonky wheelie-bins.

I pulled on my overalls, boots and gloves and caught up with my new workmates behind a row of terraced houses in Willows Lane.

But to my surprise they were not just emptying bins -- they were also helping a blind pensioner get safely around their wagon and across the road as well.

"Being a binman isn't just about getting rid of rubbish," our driver Glyn Wakley said. "It's about being part of the community as well."

Soon we were working at a steady pace in the warren of streets. Glyn led the way in the wagon and George Dean and I emptied an endless row of bins into the back.

In an average week this two-man team disposes of 100 tons of trash, empties 6,500 wheelie-bins and serves 24,000 residents -- nearly a capacity crowd at the Reebok Stadium.

The job becomes even harder in bad weather and there is a constant danger of coming across used syringes and broken glass.

As we worked I spotted mouldy microwave ovens, well-travelled suitcases and unwatchable television sets that would be picked up later by a collection team.

But the most surprising thing I noticed was the amount of people who came out to say hello as we passed. Children waved at our wagon and pensioners came to their gates for a chat.

You see, not everyone thinks the same way as my neighbour, although a few foolish people probably do. Maybe they should put their beliefs in their wheelie-bins in time for the next refuse collection.

If I was emptying the bins that day I'd gladly take that sort of rubbish to the tip.