According to market research, we the fruit buying public, are turning our nose up at the delicious, thirst quenching food in favour of the easy peelers, or other fruit that only requires us to plonk it in our mouth! Supposedly, it’s a reflection of the busy lives we lead – I beg to differ. Yes, we do lead busy lives and a large number of us only catch a quick lunch in between deadlines and meetings. But, seriously, how long does it take to peel an orange? As an orange lover myself I can tell you that it literally takes seconds. Admittedly, it’s a little messy and leaves you with a dry, citrus smelling residue on your hands. But hey, it’s a fruit, not the Times crossword that requires full concentration and attention.

We’ve recently tried to balance the endless supply of complimentary sweets and treats in the office with a healthy, organic fruit bowl. Each week fresh fruit is bought and piled high in the meeting room for all to enjoy. It’s proving to be successful. But, while the grapes, blueberries, apples, plums, even the ‘not to everyone’s taste’ kiwi fruits disappear one by one, the poor oranges lie there untouched for weeks.

Thankfully, given the longer life expectancy of an orange compared to other perishables, they’re gradually being consumed two weeks on. But, ashamedly we’re proving the research to be true! We opt for the easiest, as opposed to the ‘challenging’ fruit that is the poor orange. I for one am trying to do my bit to keep this juicy fruit from suffering the same fate as the woolly mammoth and the Irish elk. Here’s hoping our organic fruit feast will do the same!

It’s been exactly two years since I first installed my Dalek-like composter discreetly round the side of the house. Since then I have zealously fed it every rancid bit of fruit and veg peel, egg shell, tea bags etc. I save these up on my kitchen window in a ‘compost caddy’ which, during the summer months, gives birth to a plague-like swarms of tiny flies which greet horrified friends.

On discovering banana skills or potato peel thrown thoughtlessly in our normal bin, I’ve held family inquests to discover the culprit. I’ve regularly stirred the evil-smelling mixture in the garden; got the boys to collect worms to eat through it; nurtured it with composter accelator; and kept it warm by topping it with an avocado-coloured bath mat my Mum gave me (sorry Mum).

And still, a whole 24 months on, the bloody thing is stubbornly refusing to produce a single drop of anything resembling compost. 7-year-old Louis, who now considers himself something of an expert in farming, is urging me to transfer it to a sunny spot to generate more heat – perhaps next to the patio where we can view it at close quarters while enjoying a summer barbecue. However, the prospect of lifting the thing up and discovering the results of two years’ detritus is less than appealing.

No volunteers so far.