A Sparrowhawk flys past, clutching something fluffy in its talons. It’s something neither of us has seen in the wild before. It’s a wonderful sight, if not a wonderful experience for the fluffy meal.
The previous evening, a damp Friday night, we had found ourselves flicking through the programmes on BBC iPlayer looking for something to watch. Finding old episodes of One Man and His Campervan we’d settled down with a bottle of wine to watch Martin drive his old bay window camper through the New Forest, camping at Hollands Wood campsite.
It looked lovely and we were inspired. First thing Saturday we had jumped in the van with a plan that lacked in any kind of originality and made our way south to the New Forest to get ourselves a pitch at Hollands Wood.
And what a fantastic weekend it was, the forest was green and vibrant and bursting with life. Newborn foals, just getting used their gangly legs, wobbled after their mothers while cows munched contentedly at the roadside grass. Donkeys invaded the nearby village of Brockenhurst. And birds of prey flew past, clutching fluffy things.
Thank you television!