The State has declared war on the litter louts, but would you recognise a litter warden if you saw one? Róisín Inglegoes on patrol in Dublin
Near the Central Bank in Dublin, a man stands with his co-workers laughing, chatting and puffing on a cigarette. As the group heads back to its nearby office the man drops his cigarette butt on the ground, extinguishing it with an expert twist of his shoe. The butt has barely hit the pavement before a man in navy-blue uniform appears behind him.
"Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute?" asks the man in navy-blue. The man who threw the butt doesn't know what's coming.
"Do you realise it's an offence under section 3(1) of the Litter Act to throw cigarette butts on the ground?" says the man in uniform.
The butt man is mortified. Says it's his first time and that he is very sorry. Sheepishly, he returns to the scene of his crime, picks up the butt and deposits it in the receptacle provided above the litter bin.
The man gets away with a caution, narrowly missing being issued with an on-the-spot fine, otherwise known as a fixed penalty notice.
"I can't see him offending again in a hurry," says the man in navy blue, litter warden of 10 years Martin Farrell.
The litter issue was back on the agenda with a vengeance again this week with the news that 27,000 fines were handed down for rubbish-related offences last year, even if only just over 12,000 were actually paid.
Announcing details of a report by the Litter Pollution Monitoring System, Minister for the Environment John Gormley revealed a significant increase in the fines from €125 to €150, which will be introduced this September. The Minister is also keen to introduce a levy on fast-food packaging and chewing gum, in a bid to reduce the litter problem. Meanwhile, litter louts are under siege around the State, with Cork City Council recording a huge increase in prosecutions so far this year.
War has been declared on litter louts and wardens across the State are out in force. But who are these mysterious men and women with the power to punish polluters? And why do most people you talk to claim never, but never, to have clapped eyes on a litter warden?
Dubliner George Brophy, litter warden with Dublin City Council for the past six years, says he sometimes feels as though he's invisible. "It gets right on my tonsils," he says. "We are here and we are doing our job well, we have good relationships with most businesses in the city, but the amount of times you hear people talking as though we don't exist is unbelievable."
This could be because there are only 23 wardens currently on duty in Dublin and far fewer in other cities around the country. In Drogheda, where his colleague Martin Farrell lives, only a couple of them patrol the streets. In Cork, there are just four.
Brophy and Farrell are out on litter duty during a rare morning of July sunshine. The litter patrol takes up one-third of their time in a job which also involves mountains of paperwork. They are hardly invisible: "litter warden" is written on the epaulettes and breast-pockets of their shirts.
They look official but friendly; a cuddlier version of a garda. Still, unless you are the type of person who tends to use the streets as your own personal dustbin you probably wouldn't notice them. Even the litter louts miss them occasionally.
"I sometimes think I could have 'litter warden' tattooed on my forehead and people would still throw litter in front of me," Brophy jokes.
From a litter warden's vantage point, the streets of Dublin look different. Suddenly, there is potential for litter-related offences everywhere. The girl walking along with a sandwich still in its wrapper, the men unwrapping large cardboard boxes from a van and all those smokers who at any moment could let butts fall from their fingers.
"We won't tolerate anyone littering in front of us. We definitely have a zero- tolerance approach, but I also like to be pro-active. If there's a group of young people standing around smoking or eating fast food, I'll remind them to dispose of their packets - and they are usually grateful for the reminder," says Farrell, who also patrols the busy markets area in Dublin's Smithfield from 6am.
As Brophy and Farrell walk around, they keep an eye out for rubbish bags that haven't been collected - businesses are obliged to bring bags inside if they're still on the street after 10am. Domestic waste is often found dumped outside apartments in the Temple Bar area. George recently found a bag of clothes with a note inside from an irate girlfriend who had dumped her partner's possessions on the street.
At around 11am, Brophy apprehends two young women at the top of Grafton Street who have just dropped their cigarette butts. He takes their details and informs them that they'll be issued with the €125 fine, which they are entitled to appeal.
"It's a lot of money out of your wages, so it will make those girls think twice the next time they go to litter," Brophy says. He likes the job because "I like making a positive difference to the environment and also I enjoy dealing with the general public".
The usual response from the public when apprehended is surprise, embarrassment and an apology, although occasionally litter wardens have to put up with abuse.
"You have to judge each situation individually. If there are health and safety issues, you may have to back off. The person is obliged to give us their name and address, and we find in most cases they generally give the correct details," Brophy says.
Both wardens believe the streets are cleaner than in the past, because attitudes are changing and local authorities are spending more on litter prevention.
"Deep down in their hearts, people are not litter louts, but sometimes people just don't think about what they are doing," says Farrell, before walking off to reprimand a young girl who has just stubbed out her second post-sandwich cigarette on Dame Street.
Brophy and Farrell say they would welcome a levy on fast-food packaging and chewing gum, and suggest that more CCTV cameras could lead to even cleaner city streets. They are also happy about plans for more wardens on the streets of Dublin, bringing the total up to almost 30.
Among those who have recently interviewed for the positions are two former teachers and a former prison officer. Be afraid, litter louts. Be very afraid.