Why is it the older I get the guiltier I feel about things?

On Wednesday new assistant chief constable Julie Clayton arrived in my office unannounced to say hello.

My first reaction was to stand gawping as my mind whirled faster than a cat in a tumble dryer while I ran through a list of things that I might be about to be arrested for.

Offending a police press officer in this blog was the only thing I could think of.

As it turned out she had only popped into say hello. In my defence, people who usually pop in to say hello are not wearing kevlar anti-stab vests and accompanied by a similarly-equipped male colleague the size of fork lift truck.

I have to say she is a nice lady though and looks to be part of a sea change at the top of the Wiltshire force that I am certain will have a positive effect on the way the county is policed, and the way in which the force communicates with the outside world.

I also appear to have developed a guilt complex about carrier bags. There was a time I could do the shopping and use as many bags as I wanted, blissfully unaware that my actions were probably indirectly responsible for the deaths of at least three members of a polar bear family.

But now we are all painfully mindful about the chain of events triggered by wrapping a solitary box of Earl Grey teabags in its own carrier bag.

Such extravagance not only adds to the landfill toll but also earns you baleful looks from fellow shoppers.

The other day in Sainsburys, when I had forgotten to bring our supply of bags for life knitted out of macro-biotic lentils, I took a couple of carrier bags. I swear the woman behind me tutted.

She cast such a contemptuous glance at me you'd have though I'd announced in a loud voice that I would be using the bag to suffocate a baby seal.

I am now so paranoid that I will juggle my eight items or less all the way back to the car rather than sign another dumb animal's death warrant.

On Wednesday in Reeves the bakers in Devizes I bought a sandwich (tuna if you are interested) and a cake (apple strudel slice). The lady behind the counter asked me if I wanted a carrier bag.

I refused so loudly and violently you'd have thought she had asked if I wanted to see pictures of her daughter naked.

My only option is to get one of those hessian bags to take everywhere with me, possibly with a slogan reading "No animals were harmed during this errand".