Monday
Life imitates art. First, we get Tommy Archer charged with damaging his uncle’s GM crops. Next Lord Melchett, executive director of Greenpeace, is detained by police for his alleged part in a dawn raid on a trial crop of GM maize in Norfolk.
Why should Greenpeace and the anti-GM lobby get all this publicity for their arguments? I told the wife that someone should stand up for modern farming methods by pulling off a similar stunt. I want to be a martyr too.

Tuesday
I have a plan. I got into my usual argument with McKarrot, the village newsagent. She told me smugly that she is against all the GM trials and now "only eats organic food that she grows in her own garden".
I told her: "Thank you for that information. I intend to destroy all organic crops grown in this area until we know if they are safe to eat. Latest research suggests that the mycotoxin fungal spores that are allowed to thrive on organic plants might contain carcinogens. Guard your garden, Mrs McKarrot, for I intend to rid this village of the organic menace."
I went home and discussed the row that evening with my other half over a bottle or two of wine. She became increasingly enthusiastic about the cause. "What we need is direct action to decontaminate the countryside of all organic crops— before it’s too late," she declared.

Before I carried her to bed we tipped off the local newspaper that a "dawn raid would be carried out on a well-known organic vegetable plot before the potentially carcinogemic produce could be eaten".

Wednesday
At 5am, couldn’t wake the wife, so I dressed in my full spray suit and respirator mask and armed with my petrol engine-driven strimmer I parked the Discovery outside the village shop.
Mrs McKarrot’s curtains were still closed. Only a photographer and a reporter from the local paper were waiting for me. We walked into the back garden. I had a good quote all ready: "Modern farming methods have gone hand in hand with people living longer. We must not eat organic food until the Government has carried out full trials on their effects.
I believe I am strimming for a better life for all of us". I then started the engine and reduced a row of peas to shreds in minutes. As I started on the runner beans I saw Mrs McKarrot’s horrified face appear at her bedroom window.
By the time she and her husband Angus had made it outdoors the runner beans were history. When the local polis, Sam Farmgait, turned up five minutes later waving his notebook, there was just one row of mangetout between me and victory.
He peered through my mask and, trying not to laugh, said: "Come on, Charles, stop larking about— this has gone far enough." It was only when I strimmed his precious notebook to shreds that his mood changed (I still carry a grudge over his putting my name in that book for not having a tax disc on my combine last year).
At this point the wife runs down the lane in her nightie, shouting wildly. I gather from her appalled expression that my fellow eco-warrior has had a bit of a rethink.

Friday
My second day in a police cell. I come before the local magistrate again this morning. He has recommended I be detained "awaiting psychiatric reports". The wife wants me to plead temporary insanity brought on by alleged sheep dip exposure. But they’ll find out we don’t have any sheep.
I think I now understand how Lord Melchett must have felt during his night of incarceration. It can be a lonely life being an eco-warrior.

Adapted from The diary of Justin MacDonald (from CROPS magazine)