Most of those little plastic bags, containing once-lukewarm dogshite, are to be seen suspended from tree branches round here, like forlorn little scrota, abandoned by disgruntled castrati who have just discovered that the operation can't after all be reversed. Of course, the average dogwalker looks round, left, right, back, front, up, down (a drone could be watching, you know...) to determine whether his dog was spotted shitting by anybody. If it wasn't, he's in luck, and can reserve his potential spare scrotum for another day and just sidle off. Well, let's put it this way: if I ever owned a dog (and I'd rather hack off my own privates with a rusty machete), you'd never catch me handling a vile little warm bag o' turd. And I certainly wouldn't even think of going within a yard of the lid of one of those nasty little doggipoo bins, at least not without a pint of Dettol in my back pocket. Dog owners? You don't know where they've been...

Tell me, dogwalkers: when you are disposing of your little shitbags, do you choose tree branches on the right of the road or the left?