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The Great British Outdoors. I’ve been lucky enough to experience a great deal of it, having spent most of my childhood wandering about aimlessly on the family farm in Wiltshire. The South Downs in summer where we camp each year really is stunning due to all the millions of wild flowers that spring up. Looking from the top of the tallest hill down to Witch’s Well Woods and the other fields below, you can often see a gaggle of sheep charging about and a group of cow chewing on their cud nonchalantly. It’s a luxury being able to surround yourself with the beauty of nature, especially when you spend most of your time wrapped up in the stresses of city life.
On the farm I’ve built tree houses alongside unruffled blackbirds and robins, I’ve made stick and grass homes for hedgehogs and even poked at a garden snake with one extremely wary finger.
When I was young I’d always feel miserable when leaving, so I’d dramatically sulk in a small leafy archway that looked out over the wheat fields. Once, I heard a hooting, and looked around to see where it was coming from. Finally I looked up and less than a foot away from me was a barn owl, which I had never seen in the wild before. We stared at each other for what felt like a lifetime before it spread its elegant wings and took of towards the woodland on the far side of the field. THAT was the definition of experiencing British wildlife, in my opinion.