East London, a customer's warehouse sat across the river from a 'solid waste incinerator'.
Lordy lordy.
Me Uncle Michael, God Bless him, brought his family up with the river Mole at the bottom of the garden and a few hundred yards downwind of the water treatment plant. For years every time in rained heavily the river advanced right up the fairly long and steeply sloping garden bringing with it the, um, surplus, from the water treatment plant.
He grew onions the size of your head.
Then they fixed it all and the 'Pixham Pong' was no more.




