Freeganism - making use of things shops throw away

BEING told “your dinner’s in the bin” would have most people dejectedly reaching for a takeaway menu. But for Paul Henry – who is leaning into a refuse container behind a supermarket in Fareham town centre – it’s part of his everyday life.

Pulling out three large sackfuls of bread loaves like he’s struck gold, the 46-year-old is not scavenging through sheer necessity.

He could pay for the goods if he wanted to, this is about his principles.

For Paul, together with his wife Ulrike, is a “freegan”. Disillusioned by our throwaway convenience culture, they choose to live off society’s waste.

The anti-consumerist lifestyle sees its devotees taking responsibility for the impact of their consumer choices. Taking a “waste not, want not” approach, they find alternative ways of getting things that they would usually have to pay or work for.

With 80-90 per cent of their food coming from bins, toilet paper, razor blades and milk are the only things Paul and Ulrike will always go to a shop to buy.

Living in a camper van (which a friend gave to them), they live a nomadic existence, travelling across the country as the mood takes them.

Today, they are in Fareham, which proves to be the perfect place for a spot of early morning “bin diving”.

Along with all the bread, there is plenty more food to be found in two big bins round the back of Iceland in West Street.

It is 8am and there is no one much about, so the couple can complete their mission undisturbed. “Most places turn a blind eye,” says Paul.

Wrapped up against the elements in their warmest winter woollies, they expertly rummage through the “rubbish”, brandishing goody after goody. In less than five minutes, they grab spring onions, pancakes, bags of salad, pots of sandwich filling, rolls, bananas, grapes, a Cornish pasty, a huge tub of butter, ham, satsumas, plums, a four-pack of cider and baked beans – dustbin dining certainly makes for a varied diet.

The goods seems to be either just past their sell-by date, a little squashed or in slightly damaged packaging. For the shop, it is stock that cannot be sold, but for Paul and Ulrike, it is all perfectly edible (they are careful about meat but say out-of-date ham is fine as it is pumped full of preservatives) and will keep them going for the next two or three days. Only ever taking what they know they will be able to eat, their haul is just a fraction of the bins’ contents. Striding away from the small supermarket, laden down with four big carrier bags full of food, Paul jokes: “I got the early morning specials!”

With bins used by charity shops providing the bulk of their clothing and bedding, Paul quickly ducks down the alleyway behind the British Heart Foundation shop. Paul found a freshly laundered sleeping bag dumped there last night (“I think for hygiene reasons they can’t sell them”), but the bins have since been emptied so this time he has no luck. Today he is wearing a London Marathon branded jacket, which he found in a bin in the capital on the day of the race.

Ulrike, 38, is sporting a Giorgio Armani labelled top beneath her warm winter coat.

They get their toiletries from Boots’ bins and will always share their spoils with their fellow freegan friends. Marks & Spencer have the best quality bins, they confide. But unfortunately they also have a policy of putting dye in all of their waste. “It won’t kill you to eat it, it just turns your hands and clothes blue,” explains Paul.

Their best ever haul was when they found 150 chickens (three binfuls) in one go.

“They were well in date and still cold,” says Paul.

“There must have been a problem with their refrigerators. We bought a second hand deep freeze and filled it. We were living in a commune at the time so could share them.”

With their bags weighing them down, they head back to the ancient camper van they have called home for the last two years.

Parked in one of Fareham’s long-stay car parks, it is compact and cosy inside, but it is hard to escape the smell of rubbish. It could be that they have not had a chance to clean up their Iceland haul yet, or the answer could lie beneath their feet.

Pointing to the floor, Paul says proudly: “We found this carpet just a couple of days ago in a bin out the back of Carpet World.”

Putting the bags of food down, he surveys his haul with a sigh.

“The supermarkets overproduce so the shelves are always full,” he says. “It doesn’t surprise me that the credit crunch is here with over-production the way it is.

“We are happy to recycle the food, but it’s upsetting when you read headlines that four million people in Zimbabwe will be malnourished by January if they don’t get enough food. We would rather come to an empty bin than find a full one.”

A freegan for more than 20 years, for Paul the ideology is about much more than just recycling food. “It’s about sharing and living in a community,” he says.

“It’s about doing things for free. It’s your whole motivation for why you do something. Money doesn’t make the world go round. Time is life, not money.”

Originally from New Zealand, Paul used to work as a handyman before he became a freegan, and Ulrike (a devotee for seven years) is a qualified social worker from Germany.

In an average week they spend £10-£15 on food, £30 on diesel and £5 on gas, but when the van need repairing, that can be costly.

They sometimes get donations, and are currently saving up to convert their van to run on waste vegetable oil.

The couple will stay for a few days and then, who knows? Their only fixed diary date is a dentist appointment (a free one with a student trainee in London) that Ulrike has to attend soon for which she has already booked a cheap £10 return coach ticket.

They are living their dream life and say they have never been in trouble with the police. While it’s illegal to remove someone else’s property without their permission and trespass on private land, Paul sees it differently where bin diving is concerned.

“The way we see it is if you put something in the bin, you don’t want it any more. You have relinquished your responsibility for it.”

For more information about freeganism, visit freegan.org.uk

ICELAND'S RESPONSE

An Iceland spokesman said like all food retailers, it had to work within the law.

"We are not allowed to sell any chilled products past their 'use by' date and it is company policy not to offer any out-of-date food to charitable causes and the suchlike, as we cannot guarantee it will be suitable for human consumption," the spokesman said.

"However, we do allow stores to reduce the price of damaged products depending on the extent of damage and if the product is still within its sell-by-date.

"Please be assured that Iceland’s commitment to reducing food waste is constantly evolving, and we are working to both extend product shelf life, and reduce waste."

However, Alf Montagu from UK Freegans said that on many occasions retailers hid behind the law because it would hit their "profit margin" to clean up and repackage slightly damaged produce.