I yearn for James Bond-style weaponry to take out selfish b******s littering

It's kind of an unwritten rule among newspaper columnists: never name, or quote, another newspaper columnist. Even if he or she has written something really good. In fact, ESPECIALLY if they've written something really good. Plough your own furrow. Stick to your own field. Well here goes: another convention shattered on these pages. I'm going to quote one Jeremy Clarkson.

Writing in last weekend's Sunday Times, he said litterers should be shot. Although the ex-Top Gear and now Clarkson's Farm presenter doesn't believe in the death penalty, he would 'make an exception' for people who drop litter. 'I would have snipers in trees and on top of bus shelters and there'd be no trials, no arrests, no reading of rights. 'Just BLAM. Bullet in your head and your body dumped in a skip.' Hmm. Obviously that's a bit extreme, even for Jezza. But hand on heart, doesn't a tiny bit of you agree with him?

I did, the very day after that article was published. On Monday morning I was driving behind an SUV along a quiet residential street near my north London home, when I saw the driver in front of me stick his hand out of his window.

At first I thought he was going to make an old-fashioned hand-signal; perhaps his indicators weren't working. But no. His fingers uncurled and out fell a handful of orange peel. Straight onto the road. Lots of it. But he'd only just got started.

Next, a banana skin came flying out, landing on the bonnet of a car parked opposite. Then, an empty crisp packet. And another. And another. The coup-de-grace was a Coke can, which he crushed, one-handed, before tossing high into the air.

It bounced off the road straight into my windscreen, up over the roof and onto the kerb. Car interior tidied; road left strewn with his rubbish. I don't think I've felt anger quite as pure since... since... well, I can't remember. My fury was on a whole new level.

Never mind rooftop snipers. I yearned for a James Bond-type bespoke weapon on my car. Say, a shoulder-launched anti-tank gun that would emerge at the touch of a button from behind the radiator grille and deliver an SUV-shredding round to the entitled, selfish, anti-social b*****d in front of me. BOOM.

Gone in an instant amidst a thousand bits of scorched plastic and twisted, melted metal. Nothing left. But all I had was my phone and it was too late to film him, and anyway I'd have been breaking the law if I did. No point memorising his number. How to prove what I'd seen? Who to report him to, anyway? Ah... I missed a trick there, didn't I?