Having rashly decided to enter the 'Walk the Wight' challenge to raise funds for the island's hospice, we thought it was about time we started to practise walking a bit further than to the beach and back.

So we marched like Jack and Jill to the top of the downs, then back down again in Grand Old Duke of York style. En route, we passed one of the wooden replica invasion beacons. I was sorely attempted to light it and send a warning to the Person in Charge of Beacon Warnings (salary £438,000 p.a plus company car plus guaranteed pension and a supply of matches for life).

But I was too late. The island has been invaded; by midgets and their grumpier teenage siblings, allowed out of their cotton wool nests to receive their half-termly bout of fresh air and exercise. Escorted by parents stupid enough to allow their small children to rush up to a strange dog, grab it by its ears and bellow at it.

Foolish, foolish, foolish - don't these parents know that a bite from a human carries far more risk of infection than that of a dog?