:: BIRMINGHAM behind the scenes :: An insight into Birmingham’s invisible army of night workers

You put on your shoes ready to leave the house to the soundtrack of yours kids whining that the milkman’s not been, as they poke fussily at their milk-less bowls of dry cornflakes. The post’s not come arrived either, even though you paid extra for special delivery on that online purchase. This is the scenario that greets you as you hurriedly pull on your coat, as you hastily slam the door behind you. You are however relieved to find that your taxi is waiting at the kerb to whisk you to the certainty of your workplace away from the uncertainty of home.

What you see in front of you is not your usual smooth, shiny black cab but an unrecognisably grey filthy one. Instead of automatically reaching out for the handle, it takes some time for you to navigate around the muck to successfully open the door, and even then you end up with a palm full of gunk. Recognising the disgust in your eyes as you climb into the cab, the taxi driver explains that the steam cleaners were closed last night so he couldn’t get the taxi cleaned.

Pulling into the train station, you are relieved to finally be able to leave the stale-smelling cab, unfortunately taking with you the odours of last nights cigarettes, beer and food that have been successful in permeating the fabric of your suit and lingering in your hair. However, the relief is short-lived, for as you take a step out of the taxi you land a foot in a semi-eaten kebab, partially-digested even, by the looks of things. Your expectation of clean morning streets has fallen short, as you scan a littered pavement as far as the eye can see.

The station forecourt isn’t much better as you have to wade though the obstacle course of fast-food debris. Looks like the cleaners haven’t been in either. Nevertheless, you conquer this warzone of discarded hamburger shrapnel, burger cartons and used tickets and emerge triumphant, but severely ketchup splattered at the other side of the forecourt. Looking like Wurzel Gummage, or a Dickensian street urchin is unlikely to do you any favours at the board room meeting, but nevertheless you try your best to brush yourself down.

Things aren’t looking up at the newsstand and they’re although their usually crammed, today there’s not even a single paper. Nothing to read on the train then. Irritated you get on the escalator and head for the platform. A voice on the tannoy tells those standing at the platform that all train services have been cancelled and they will be replaced with bus service. You panic, and run towards the pick-up point. Over the surging crowd in front of you, you can’t see how full the bus is getting though the thick coat of dirt on the bus windows, will you even manage to get on at all? If you do will you miss your stop? You surrender to the fact that you are indeed going to be late for the office and head for your usual take-away coffee and breakfast baguette. You can see the café bar shutters down, a commotion of morning commuters expressing discontent at the disruption at their normal morning ritual of coffee and breakfast. You overhear that the no-one could get their deliveries done because no-one had anticipated that big freeze last night whilst everyone was sleeping. And you ask yourself…so where were the gritters…?