if anything absolutely failed to find a buyer , not even from the catmeat men , not even from the tanners , not even from mr dibbler himself , there were his mighty compost heaps downstream of the city , where the volcanic heat of decomposition made fertile soil ( '10p a bag , bring your own bag ... ' ) out of everything that was left including , according to rumour , various shadowy businessmen who had come second in a takeover battle ( ' ... brings up your dahlias a treat ' ) .