While hordes of my fellow millennials line up for their ‘$22-a-pop smashed avocado’ on artisan sourdough, served with a soy flat white, I’m the person frantically scanning the menu for any sign of normality – bacon and eggs with, dare I say, a regular cappuccino.

I’ve even gone so far as to say I’m allergic to avo when ordering in front of colleagues to avoid the “Are you serious? How?” conversation that inevitably follows my “Can I have no avocado on that, please?”

But before you tie the noose, let me explain.

Avocado just isn’t that great – there, I said it. There’s the underwhelmingly creamy texture, the muted flavour (seriously, what’s the point?) and its increasingly annoying habit of being a sneaky beast of a fruit that appears almost everywhere. It’s also impossible, might I add, to remove once it’s been added to your breakfast.

Trust me, it’s a constant uphill battle.

Nothing, though, could prepare me for what happened in 2015. After years of besottedly worshipping Nigella Lawson, my heart was smashed when the domestic goddess released a recipe for avocado toast. I’ve since moved on, but my worship is not the only casualty. I’ve lost friends along the way, too. In a bid to rid my Instagram of pestering posts on Sunday mornings, I’ve found myself in the depths of an avocado cull, frenziedly unfollowing those clogging my feed with their basic brunches (non-millennials, to understand the term ‘basic’, see here). It’s exhilarating and liberating, and I highly recommend it to all my fellow avo antagonists.

And before the naysayers and keyboard warriors pipe up, my hate for avocados isn’t financially motivated. I’m perfectly happy to splash out on a bottle of whisky or an obnoxiously expensive cocktail, as long as it’s of substance – which avocados, in my opinion, are not.

Contrary to the chiding of my middle-aged bank manager (who happily reminds me of my ‘unnecessary’ spending), and much to the disappointment of my parents, I still can’t afford to own my own home. But for those interested, I’m happily taking donations for a deposit, here. Perhaps my ownership status has something to do with those bottles of whisky or cocktails, or the books I just bought online, but I beg to differ.

For those still shrouded by the smears of avocado on their breakfast board (can we just be done with them already?), I’ll leave you with another secret. Avocados are dangerous. Call them a superfood all you like, but beware, these green monsters are deadly. The rise in the fruit’s popularity has seen an increase in what emergency departments have dubbed ‘avocado hands’. The knife-inflicted injuries are so serious that many require lengthy surgery. Not even three-time Academy Award winner Meryl Streep is free from the wrath of avocados, cutting her hand seriously back in 2012. Which raises the question: if Meryl Streep is no match for avocados, then who the bloody hell is?