Is it me, or are the streets of Mallorca increasingly paved with poop? For the last seven days, without exception, I’ve exited my front gate to find a freshly squeezed doo-doo and I’m beginning to lose my sh1t (pun intended). Before your imagination runs riot, no, I’m not the target of some kind of dirty campaign. Far from it. Millionaire mansions or bijou apartments, almost every calle in the neighbourhood has its (un)fair share of dog logs. It looks disgusting, smells foul, and is downright dangerous for children and animals exposed to potentially harmful bacteria. (FYI canine parvovirus spreads like wildfire and can be fatal.)

It baffles me why Mallorca has such a problem with plop. It’s not for a lack of official consequences. In Calvia, failing to clear up after your canine could result in a 600-euro fine, in Palma this rises to 1,500 euros, but the thunders-from-down-under remain uncollected. Is it a cultural issue? Are the Island’s residents dozy or lazy? Surely it can’t be so. But why, therefore, are the pavements of southern France (home to my sister), leafy Surrey (my mother), or port-city Hamburg (father), noticeably jobbie-free? Answers on a postcard please.

Frustratingly, like that other brand of urban lowlife - the spray paint-wielding vandal - I never seem to catch the ignorant dog-owning delinquent in the act. If I did, I’d be mentally rifling through my book of insults and choosing which ones to verbally hurl.

So, good people of Mallorca, I have news for you: the poop fairy does not exist. Yep, if you’re the type of uncouth reprobate who allows your pooch to leave steaming brown gifts on every street corner, there ain’t no fairy that’s going to swoop down and clear up after you. That fragrant faecal delivery will remain until the next downpour (rare), deep council clean (infrequent), or shoe steps in it (likely). Invest in some biodegradable waste bags, grab those bum biscuits and dispose of them in the bountiful bins provided – for all our sake’s.