I am not, as a rule, an angry man and will cross the street to avoid bother… or some of Cowley Road’s more crossed-eyed souls.

But, I must admit, to feeling the red mist descend this week.

It was all over a fat bird.

The temptation as this stage is, clearly, is to say “I won’t go out with her again”, but that would be immature wouldn’t it (?).

Sunday was spent carefully, nay, meticulously, planting rows of helpless Cauliflower plants and waif-like broccoli shoots into the soil.

It took hours, mainly because this plot’s Barbara kept telling me I was doing it wrong, and also because I kept treading on the one I had just planted in standing backwards to admire my handy work.

The runner bean scaffolding was also erected in such a rigid manner it could withstand a battering from a hurricane, or mischievous school child. Job done.

So, imagine my fury on ambling over the following day to find the kind of decimation usually reserved for the main field at Glastonbury on Monday morning.

Plants yanked up and leafs chewed and spat out on the ground. My initial reaction was to hunt out my plot neighbour, who I assumed would be sat behind the compost heap, giggling manically, with a withered broccoli shoot poking out of the corner of his mouth.

This was nipped in the bud by wily-plot-holder (vet of 30 years at Links – who shall be known as Jerry) and his foreboding point at the trees bordering my plot… home to the pigeons.

They had been watching and planning their attack. Coo-coo.

I went into this project with a calming idea to nurture crops in an organic, green environment.

Now, after weeks seeing weedy plants struggle to sneak out of the soil and nature’s feathered friends destroy hours of work, I want to tipped gallons of toxic weed killer, powerful chemical plant grow on my patch and take out the birds with a flame thrower.

When one passing allotment holder chanced a cheery “hello”, breathed in the air and started a eulogy about how nice it was to be nearer to mother earth, I chased him to Kennington with a hoe.