Why I wore a bright yellow waterproof jacket is anybody’s guess. What an idiot! And here’s me thinking it would be the perfect crime. I say crime loosely, as stealing a few eggs from the local duck farm is hardly bank robbing. But robbing is robbing yeah? And now I’ve landed myself right in it.

It all started with a bet from Rob, my so-called best mate who loves to do his ‘man challenges’. We test each out now and again, everything from climbing a lamppost to eating a tablespoon of cinnamon (not tried that? I dare you). He enjoys them more than me; I’m just join in to save face. And now I’m regretting it.

The duck farm is situated right on the river bank, about a mile from our town. Rob told me it would be simple; paddle down the river, tie up a few metres from the back of the farm that backs onto the river, scale the simple homemade fence, bag half a dozen duck eggs and scarper. The paddling was easy, as was tying up the boat. The scaling of the ‘simple homemade fence’ became a comedy sketch, as first it collapsed, then my right foot got stuck in it and just to cap it all off, I then tore a hole in the arse of my jeans as that also got snagged.

Just as I was bagging the first eggs, I heard the voices. Rob - always right of course - had told me it was ran by some ‘old bloke who’s legs have gone’. But these were the voices of a few younger men and they sounded pretty pissed off. I dive into the bush for cover.

“Somebody has wrecked the fence Jimmy, what the fuck!” examined the first non-old man voice.

“Hang on, is that a boat tied up? The bastard is here nicking the eggs, I can see a bright yellow jacket in the bush!” angrily replied the second non-old man voice. “Get the twat now!”

I ran as quickly as I could, eggs falling from my pockets and smashing ungracefully across the farm. I jumped onto the boat and started paddling only to realise that I was treading water; I hadn’t untied it! Desperately reaching for the tie, I could see them sprinting towards me. Three pretty burly farm-type men, with three very red and angry faces. I’m pretty sure one had an axe.

I got the tie off just as they reached me, one of them desperately lunging for me, missing and falling into the river.

“I’m going to fucking kill you when I get my hands on you, you egg-robbing scum!” screamed the now soaking wet angry man. Oh shit. I’m done for.

I paddle like mad, trying ever so hard to make distance between the now river-bound swimming angry men. One throws a stone which clips my left shoulder. A left shoulder which I’m sure they spotted a mile off when I was skulking in the bush whilst trying to steal eggs because it is bloody bright canary yellow! And as the distance increases and the shouts become lost in the noise of my paddling, I swear that tomorrow I find a better friend. One that don’t like to test the testosterone. One that will be lucky to be alive when I get my bloody hands on him!