[garinda]

From my bedroom window l occasionally see Mr Fox trying to get across to the lttle island, to see how the little birds are doing in their nests.

Sometimes it happens in the middle of the night, and l'm sure Pendy will back me up that it is better than an alarm call. Not when she is in Bloomsbury, it's not that much of a din, but when she is up here.

There were many more foxes when l lived in South London, than l have ever seen up here. The place behind my hedge was a veritable killing field. l could have filled a duvet with the amount of feathers l had to sweep up.

The strangest thing l ever saw, was undrawing my sitting room curtains one morning and on the windowsill sat the mankiest, oldest, greyest fox l had ever seen. Eyeball to eyeball we looked at one another. Me tapping on the glass had no effect, normally the inner city foxes weren't shy but did keep out of your way. This one just stared at me.

I would like to say that when l came home from work and found it dead on the window sill, it resulted in me now being the the owner of a silver fox hat. Infact l just binned the little creature.