The first trip of the year to the plot is always laden with trepidation.

Last weekend offered the perfect conditions, which is — frankly — annoying. No excuses.

But a few weeks left to its own devices can turn an allotment into a Thunderdome-like wilderness.

My upturned wheelbarrow has often provided sanctuary for creatures in the winter.

A couple of years ago I returned and lifted the barrow to reveal a particularly grumpy badger.

Now, I don’t know how regularly you city folk have encountered a badger, but face-to-face they may as well be a hungover rhino swirling nunchucks.

It seems they don’t appreciate being disturbed and bolt for the nearest hedge.

Apart from needing new underpants, I was otherwise uninjured. However, it has for ever more left me nervous to start my winter clear-up.

I fear the Oxford city wildlife is becoming more adventurous.

I often see muntjac wandering along Barracks Lane, probably looking for unguarded kale plants to munch on… or, mulling why there are so many coffee shops in Cowley Road?

And there is a particularly feisty robin, which (cliché, I know) perches on my fork handle inches from my head tweeting, what I swear sounds like, “moron”. I was also a bit perturbed to find a discarded KFC’ boneless box’ nestling under branches prepared for a bonfire, which suggests hedgehogs are becoming too ‘urbanised’ for their own good.

Ah yes, this sense of being ‘at one’ with nature cannot be beaten.

I hear from a fellow plot-holder a marksman was once used to take pot shots at plump pigeons spotted gorging themselves on fresh vegetables and fruit.

Apparently this practice was eventually discouraged. I can’t for life of me fathom why. It may have something to do with the small children’s play area in the middle of the allotments.

There is nothing like the ‘getting-back-out-there’, purpose to Sunday morning once again. I love it.

A handful of sprouts and leeks have lasted the winter to make the Sunday dinner plate. So, I mustn’t grumble.

I have sacks of horse manure – definitely HORSE, not cow – waiting to be tipped on to the soil.

For now, in February, there is pottering to do. A few deep frosts are still in the forecast, plus it will snow in April. Mark my words.

And, probably, there is probably a small menagerie worth of animals to rehouse.