AFTER all the hype (according to the council’s spokesman: “They are one of the most popular things we’ve ever introduced,”) I’m fully prepared to take to the mean, but very clean, streets of Charminster in a Superman-esque cloak, my undercrackers over my jeans.

But no. All I need is the regulation steel-capped footwear, hi-viz jacket and a fetching pair of cream work gloves with blue rubber pads for extra grip on all that pesky litter I’ll be clearing.

I’m joining Charminster’s Street Champion Robin Taylor. He’s a trained artist with a sideline in stylish T-shirts and paintings but man cannot live by art alone and so he took the job last autumn.

Despite toiling 9am - 5pm six days a week for the minimum wage, he enjoys the work.

“I’m outside, which is lovely, and I also enjoy the way you get to use your brain and time manage.”

Each day, twice a day, he trawls Charminster High Street, cleaning up after all those slobs who think it’s fine to chuck their litter on the ground instead of the bin.

In addition to this he has a specific patch off the main drag to cover every day and it’s pretty skilled work. Well, could you steer a recalcitrant barrow, snatch litter with your grabbing stick, give directions to the clueless and avoid pranging motors all at the same time?

Like everything in life there is an art to this and Robin explains it.

“If you are right handed walk down the left side of the street so you aren’t reaching across yourself with the grabbing stick,” he says, deftly demonstrating with a discarded sandwich packet.

If only it were that easy. Because big, square things like packets are the easy part. It’s the rest that foxes me.

Robin’s pet hate – and now mine – are cigarette butts. “They are so hard to pick up and when you try and brush them, they just fly around.” He also hates glass, chiefly because when it breaks it’s a pain to clear up and it’s dangerous to animals and small children.

But even that’s not the worst. Human poo and dog mess are “best to cover with dust and then remove it,” and junkies’ needles are more revolting hazards.

“I even found a whole bag of needles once,” he says, but that problem is abating.

All information like this is passed on to the council, which can monitor situations, from litterbugging addicts, to which street-lights need mending, and where to send the graffiti team next.

No wonder the Street Champs are regarded as the council’s eyes and ears and relations with local traders have soared since their instigation.

Today I’m going to help clean Stewart Road which, on the face of it, looks quite pristine. But this is only because Robin has been clearing it as part of his weekly round – before, like everywhere else, these streets were part of a general scheme with costly ad hoc visits to deal with specific irritations.

And it’s not all litter-picking. Robin spots some weeds sprouting from the pavement and attacks them with his hoe.

He uses it again to dig at a pile of detritus in the gutter, explaining: “If you don’t clear it and it gets left, plants will start growing and you’ll have even more to deal with after a few months.”

We amble on. Old ladies beam and tell us we’re doing a grand job and a chap approaches and asks for a light which Robin kindly produces and we listen as the man cheerily tells us about his medication and how he’s finally managed to get a whole night’s sleep.

“I’m probably going on but I feel really pleased,” he says, before moving off. Random people are par for the course, as are homeless folk. “I talk to all kinds of people, get to know the Big Issue sellers,” says Robin. “I think it’s nice that someone remembers them because they are a bit like people in my job – overlooked by the rest of society.”

These people are distinctly better behaved than others. “I’ve had people drop litter right in front of me,” says Robin, who isn’t in a position to have a row with such scum.

I, on the other hand, quietly vow that if anyone does that to me, I will whack them with my grabbing stick.

There are other irritations too, like homeowners who request workers to clear the leaves from their own trees which have fallen on the road (why doesn’t it occur to these slackers to do it themselves?) and, for me personally, all those drives which leak gravel onto my nice clean pavement.

Like everyone in street cleansing Robin’s heard the mannerless nonsense that: “If we didn’t’ drop litter you’d be out of a job.”

“If they didn’t drop litter I’d have more time to tackle weeds, leaves and keep things more nicely,” he says.

As it is, he has only one real plea. “Please put your litter in the bin. Not on top of the bin or beside it.” Or stuffed in the hedge or behind the telephone exchange. Because someone has to clear it up. And it’s only when you’ve done it yourself, you realise what a job it is.