The Guardian Dirt, I learned in a sociology lecture one day long ago, is just matter out of place. To illustrate his point, the lecturer noted that in a flowerbed, mud is mud, but smeared across a white cotton duvet cover, it is dirt. It is all down to cultural norms, apparently.
Dirt is dirty.
The rest of the house is packed, ceiling to floor, with bags and bags of rubbish. The garden too is strewn with all sorts of garbage from old window panes to geriatric fridges filled with broken biscuits. The place looks like a theme park designed by Stig of the Dump. Not that Mr Trebus calls it rubbish, or even matter out of place. The bags and fridges and window panes are his personal belongings and he is engaged in a fight with his local council to keep them in the place they're in at the moment.