A middle aged woman in a red anorak grasped the handrail and peered worriedly into the empty depths, her inner turmoil etched all over her face. As I swung my black bag into the skip marked ‘Household Waste’ she turned and, with an anguished voice, confided to me. “I just can’t do it…. I’m superstitious”. Walking off, she left the intact mirror and the seven years’ bad luck by the side of the skip for someone else to deal with.