Chick, chick, chick, chick, chicken...

It's Kate again.

I thought I'd let you in on a running conversation between James, Katy and I about potential allotment livestock.

James wants chickens. Five 'layers' and five to eat, he says. He reckons he can put them in a pen to keep their sharp little beaks away from our fledgling veg.

Me, I am not so keen on the idea. In fact, I couldn't be less keen. For a start, looking after the things we stick in the soil to grow is quite enough responsibility for me, thank you very much. I also don't think there is enough room for some free-range fun in the small amount of space we have left to play with. More crucially though, I am vegetarian and although I'm not of the militant variety, the idea of nurturing some fluffy little chicks and then having someone wring their little necks breaks my heart.

I understand that most other people eat meat and I also understand that chickens raised on our allotment would have a happy life, comfortable life (foxes aside), but for me, the allotment is about bringing things to life, not ending life. Unless we are talking about evil weeds, in which case, bring on the trowels and lets rip those monsters out by the roots. No killing of chickens on my watch, I'm afraid. I sound like a total party pooper, don't I?

James has now put his name down for another allotment, which is already provisionally titled 'The Farm', so that he can satisfy his need to be surrounded by clucking fowl to his heart's content. In the interim, he is actually contemplating setting up a pen in his garden, until an appropriate plot comes up.

Am I being unfair?