I wonder about so much crap......

The two women coming towards me this morning were kitted out like an ad for Barbour. Full-length waxy mac, matching hat and shiny green wellies. I wonder if they actually scrub their boots - or just lob them in the bin and get new ones when they get a bit mucky. Like Elvis replacing his car when the ashtray was full.

They were almost surreal these women, looked very wrong here in the windswept dunes with their tidy hair and lipstick. They were totally oblivious to the wild beauty of their surroundings, showed no awareness of the sea or the fragility of the land which arouses such passion in me. They were talking about Rosemary and something she had done that simply wasn’t done.

I nodded and smiled as I passed, leaving my dog, Jack, to do his submissive thing with their Alpha males. He has a little ritual; on first spotting a superior dog-being, he lies down patiently and waits. As Superior Dog draws level he lolls over stupidly and puts his head on his front paws, bottom stuck up in the air. There are two ways this ends: either the dogs tear around like headless chickens, best friends for three minutes, or Jack rolls over and sticks his legs in the air and gets sniffed.

This morning he rolled over and I walked on. I’d gone maybe twenty yards further along the boardwalk, built to protect my beloved dunes, when I stopped dead. There in front of me, right bang smack in the middle of the path was a huge pile of still-steaming dog poo.

This really gets my blood boiling. Not many things rattle me, but when I’m famous and a Sunday magazine asks about my favourite restaurants, beauty tips and pet hates, dog poo is going to be right up there at the top of my rant list.

I stuck a bright smile on my face and turned to the immaculate women. One of them was on the phone. The other was shrieking (at a pitch only dogs could hear) to get her dog – Sebastian – to lay off licking Jack’s nether regions.

‘Excuse me,’ I called sweetly. ‘Would you like to borrow a poo bag? I’ve plenty and there’s a bin just up ahead of you.’ The Shrieking Lady stopped in mid squeal and froze. Her friend muttered something into the mobile without taking her eyes off me, hung up and very slowly slid it back into her pocket. I thought they were going to put their hands up. I glanced down to check that I was, in fact, waving a small plastic bag at them and hadn’t accidentally pulled a Colt 45 from my anorak and headed bravely towards them. To their credit they didn’t actually run away although their top halves very definitely leaned backwards.

One of them held out a beautifully – fortunately – gloved hand and took the bag from me. I smiled encouragingly as she stooped to pick up the poo and then watched as she walked the fifty yards to the poo bin. ‘There,’ I wanted to say, ‘was that so hard?’ but I made do with ‘It’s so terribly pretty around here, don’t you think?’ and walked on, shaking slightly and wondering why I felt the need to toff up my vocab.

I wonder all sorts on these morning walks. It’s a great way to start the day. I wonder how the hell to help my littlest learn her tables, what I would do if I were Cheryl Cole, whether I could be a foster mum and how Little Miss High and Mighty down the road will react when she finds out that Brad is leaving Angelina for me.

I wonder whether Elvis really did that thing with the ash trays, whether I can run 10k to help fight cancer, and if I should get bleachy highlights or stick with mousey.

It’s my precious time, in a place that means a lot to me (I wonder if I should scatter my ashes here?) so it rankles when people stride through it, barely notice it and leave mounds of crap behind them.

I’d barely gone another twenty yards when there in front of me was another seriously big pile. Same sort, if you know what I mean. Same diet, same time frame, same kind of dog.

I turned to where the women were still standing, still watching me as though I was some kind of weirdo. My silly grin reappeared and out came another poo bag but I just didn’t have the balls to go through the whole process again.

‘Not to worry,’ I called in the same silly, plummy voice, waving my little bag. ‘I’ll get this one’.

And off I tootled, in the opposite direction to them, away from the poo bin, stuck with carrying the bag of smelly crap all the way around the point and back.

I wonder if I’ll ever learn to keep my big mouth shut.