POLITICIANS spout a lot of rubbish. Neither are they averse to the odd bit of trash talk across the benches of power.

But recently in Bolton I found that not all of their garblings are complete garbage. I am talking, of course, about the thorny issue of litter.

Rubbish in the town is on the up and Bollton Council’s own “pass rates” for street cleanliness are down from 94 per cent to 90 per cent as reported in The Bolton News last week.

And councillors in Bolton want you and me — the great unwashed — to sort it out for them. Businesses — especially takeaways — should be making sure the pavements outside their premises are clean and tidy, they say. And residents should take more pride in the streets where they live.

So if someone drops a food wrapper, a beer can or a drinks bottle outside your home — or even if you spot a bit of rubbish floating across Victoria Square — you should pick it up and chuck it in the bin, rather than let the wind take care of it, or wait for the ever-dwindling team of street cleaners to sort it out.

The cheek of it, some might say. What do we pay our taxes for, if it is not for our bins to be collected and our streets to be kept clean?

On the contrary, however, I think it’s a good idea. Indeed, while others prefer long walks in the park, knitting or the theatre, my hobby is litter picking.

My other half often looks on shaking her head as I reach down to the ground and pick up disease ridden sweets wrappers, drinks cans and takeaway cartons, then walk along holding them until I see the next bin.

She keeps telling me she is going to buy me a litter picker — I think she is joking, but I would like nothing better. Not only do I feel like picking up trash is the right thing to do, it also makes me feel all smug afterwards, like I am better than everyone else. Honestly, you should give it a go.

We may not like the circumstances under which we are being asked to do our bit for Bolton — that is the fairly drastic cuts to the council’s budget — but if it prompts a sea-change in people’s behaviour towards litter then I’ll be happy. I may have to find a new hobby though.

FOOTBALL

I may, on occasion, mention football in this column. Specifically, Bolton Wanderers.

This season has, so far, been an unmitigated disaster. We have failed to register a win in the league and, at the time of writing, had just one point to our name, courtesy of a 2-2 draw, ironically against top-of-the-league Nottingham Forest.

It doesn’t help that my other half is a Forest fan, so while I’ve been drowning my sorrows of a Saturday evening, she’s been celebrating.

I had vague hopes that we may have had better luck away to Leeds United, a couple of weeks ago, before the international break.

No such luck though. I texted my dad on the morning of the match.

“Leeds have sacked their manager,” I said. “We’ve got no chance.”

For the uninitiated, teams who get sack their manager often enjoy an instant improvement in form, even if it is only sometimes short-lived.

My dad’s reply was short and to the point.

“Maybe we should do the same.”

* UPDATE: Bolton now have two points — woo hoo!

STRICTLY AWFUL

Reality television season is upon us.

X Factor has kicked off, there’s been a bit of Strictly action — although the proper live shows don’t start for another week or two — and the Great British Bake Off is in full swing.

Bake Off still feels relevant and fresh, although I’m not a fan myself, but I can’t help feeling Strictly and X Factor may have had their day.

Strictly itself was a reboot of a tired old show which had run its course — Come Dancing — but now the reboot is in its 11th year.

It’s time for change. I want something new to watch on a Saturday night.

BABIES

I was thrilled to hear the news that Kate Middleton — wife of some balding bloke who will probably one day be king if we still have a monarchy in 40 years — is expecting a baby.

I was also overjoyed to hear that my twin sister is preggers and will be most likely popping one out just after Christmas.

I was similarly pleased last month when my good pal Julian told me his wife was pregnant.

And naturally, I was delighted when my other half told me two of her friends were with child.

The new chap starting work next week? You’ve guessed it. And my old buddy Greg — his second is on the way.

Everyone’s bloody pregnant. I honestly couldn’t be happier — no, really — and all these imminent arrivals definitely do not put any pressure whatsoever on me.

Glad I’ve cleared that one up.

THE WEDDING

I was in Liverpool at the weekend for my good friend Jack’s wedding.

I lived with Jack — a Cockney who moved to Liverpool to be close to his beloved Everton — when we were both students (in Crewe, of all places).

The wedding was a heady mix of Londoners and Scousers. There was, predictably, a lot of chat about football, and the bride and groom, instead of giving “wedding favours” to guests, made donations to both the Everton Community Trust and the Hillsborough Family Support Group, which I thought was a nice touch.

I’m not a massive fan of weddings, but I was treating the occasion as an excuse to have a few drinks and celebrate my promotion at work to news editor.

I got chatting to a family friend of the bride Amy and luckily it wasn’t long before I got the chance to humbly boast about my new job.

“Oh, my husband used to be a news editor,” she told me. “You’ll have plenty to talk about.”

She introduced us and he was very encouraging about my new job and congratulated me on reaching such heady heights.

I was so caught up in my own glory, I almost forgot to ask the chap where he had worked.

“Oh, I was at Reuters,” he replied nonchalantly.

It knocked the wind right out of my sails. Pride comes before a fall.