Strut down any street, frolic through any field, mope majestically across any meadow, or wander as lonely as a cloud, and chances are you’ll soon stumble across a great big steaming pile of freshly laid dog poo.

It’s unfortunately a sign of our times. And like every other city, town, village and hamlet in the UK, Abergavenny is full of crap.

Of course, the Gateway to Wales has long been renowned as a hot-bed for intellectual discourse and philosophical ruminations of all colour and hue. Many a lively discussion has been held in the town’s eateries and drinking dens debating detailed specifics in the teachings of such mental heavyweights as Nietzche, Schopenhauer, Kierkegaard, Plato and Proust.

But just lately, topics such the objective and subjective nature of truth, the metaphysical will to power, transcendental idealism, and the doctrine of eternal return have been overshadowed by concerns of a more tangible and pressing nature.

Namely, does the design of the new Morrisons pose an existential crisis for the people of Abergavenny? Does the lack of adequate public toilet facilities in the town diminish us in a spiritual sense and threaten our hitherto concrete concepts of self-identity and self-esteem? And does the abundance of both unbagged and bagged dog poo in our town make us a bunch of lazy and selfish sods who need a good telling off?

The Chronicle hit the streets and found that a sanitary solution to the dog fouling problem tops the list of most people’s agenda when it comes to how Abergavenny could be made less foul.

Whilst trawling through spots savagely blighted by a wealth of excrement, we bumped into our old friend, Johnny Turnip, who was short of puff and crimson of cheek in Castle Meadows.

As a semi-professional runner, Johnny covers a lot of ground in this old town, and is no stranger to putting his foot in it.

As always, Turnip had plenty to say on the subject of dog fouling.

“Let’s get something straight from the get-go. I love drugs!” Explained Turnip, who realizing his unfortunate slip of the lip quickly corrected himself, “I’m sorry, I meant dogs!”

“Anyhow, I love our four-legged friends so much, I once spent a month living wild with a pack of Dauschunds on the outskirts of Builth Wells. I was being filmed for a Channel Five documentary called ’The wolf within’. The programme was eventually aborted for reasons I’d prefer not to discuss but I’m only telling you so there’s no confusion. I’m down with the hounds dude. I love ‘em, but what I don’t love is getting by Nike Airs soiled because of someone else’s laziness. To me dog crap is a human and not a dog problem. I’m talking about those good-for-nothing types who can’t clean up after their pets.”

Warming to his topic, Turnip explained, “I tell you now. There’s nothing more annoying than going nuclear on a run and getting in the zone only to be cut down in full flow because you’ve trod on a turd. It’s mortifying mate. As a runner, I’m extremely vain, and I put a lot of thought into the outfits I run in. Obviously it’s a fine line between fashion and function but usually this time of year, I’ll rock a bright red or orange full-body lycra suit with something cool on it like a thunderbolt or maybe a Chinese dragon, and I’ll finish the look off with a pair of box-fresh whiter than white Nike Airs.

“Obviously if my whites hit a pile of dog excrement at the speeds I travel, then it ain’t gonna be pretty. I’ll be honest it has happened lad, and it’s completely ruined my session. Not only are my Nikes ruined, but I end up stinking. I’m tamping for days afterward, and in the immediate aftermath I have to rush home and eat a least four Pot Noodles before I can regain some sense of equilibrium.

“A turd is no place for a Turnip and Abergavenny is no place for a turd. So please people, do everyone a favour and bag it up and dispose of it somewhere sensible.”

On our travels across tarmac and sod, the Chronicle encountered avid dog walker Dai Idle who is a fervent advocate of cleaning up after dogs, but remained angry at just how many bags of canine waste were left hanging from fences, hedges, and discarded on the river bank.

Mr Idle barked, “It’s one thing wrapping and bagging your dog’s turd but what’s the point in leaving it to linger in a little bag which is not biodegradable and which will fester for all of eternity and beyond?”

Mr Idle snapped, “Take Castle Meadows for example. a lovely area and popular with dog walkers of all shapes and sizes. But the amount of bags of crap I see down there on a regular basis is a joke. Here we have people who clean up after their dog when people are around, but when no-one’s watching they see nothing wrong in throwing these bags in the bushes, the river, or even worse, hanging them like little decorations from tree branches and footbridges. I ask you, what kind of sick and twisted creature does that?”

It’s a good question and one not easily answered.