A Day In Anniversary Wood

It's my fifth anniversary of liberated Fridays. Ah, a day in the woods me thinks.

Ben drives me in. He is a bear, absorbing my enthusiasm like it's absorbable salmon flavoured plankton. He drops me off at The Trout public house. It's all early morning desertion and distant clink of preparation. The sun is moody and adolescent in a parental blue sky. The wood awaits me like crinkly lettuce to slug.

In the next three hours I do not cross one other human being. My only contact with the outside world is a phone call from Page. But more of that later. Patience.

Before I penetrate the wood I'm a sunbathing whore on a wooden bench. Here I discover the hawthorn tree! I lived 25 years 3 months and 16 days of my life in a house called 'The Hawthorns' yet have never known what one actually looks like. I mistook the conker tree we had there for a hawthorn. Armed today with a tree detecting book I'm able to identify the tree next to me as hawthorn.

I penetrate the wood. Dappled sunlight on monster trees. Quiet as a mouse save for the monotone defiance of the nearby A34. Many paths to choose from sets the pattern early. I duck left.

I begin by pussyfooting - edging in and out. In being wood, out being wood and field's edge. Be brave Bombardier! Lose yourself. Jump into the dark and borrow.

I become bombardier and jump. Delightful. A 'he who dares' moment rears it's wise old head. I notice a curious dip down off the path and take it laughing in the face of a nettle fire that crackles and hisses in protest. My reward is water! A hidden gem. A lush pond surrounded by Tropicana.

I skirt round to the sunny side and watch dragonflies catch and enjoy their prey before racing off to discuss their meals with each other. Our equivalent would be describing a delicious meal to a workmate and being met with a hearty "Well, if it's that good then Julie and I must give that place a try." But they never do. They only ever go to the Thai restaurant on the Shepperton Road and who can blame them. Pad Thai to die for.

Onwards I hop, skip and jump past beech, birch and oaks. It's dense. The sky has a limited invitation to this party. Printed on 250gsm paper. Trebuchet font.

I perch above invisible badgers, busy sleeping off their morning sherries before they rise in the still of night to watch Attenborough on iPlayer.

I walk on heartily. A ruminant pace. This is more of a 'be' than a walk. I'm just allowing myself to 'be' in the woods. Some may call this pretentious but I would say to those spiritually impoverished cynics, "Hey there man. Don't fret. Come and snuggle into me. Let me hold you still and kiss your silly little head. It's all okay. Everything's all right. Breathe deeply and feel my heart beat next to yours. Do you feel that? We are alive my friend. Alive!"

There is natural art in these them woods. I shimmy around a piece even the late and great Henry Moore could only dreamt of creating. A fallen twisted and knotted tree trunk has become a kind of eagle faced man tree with appendages spiralling out as if to ward off evil spirits created by the competitive energy of eBay users. I want to take a picture to document my find but have no camera. My phone rings. It's Page.

"Page dear boy, it's you!"
"Yes."
"Oh Page."

"What's up mate."
"Well, I've just shimmied around an amazing eagle faced man tree but I haven't got a camera to document it and show other human beings at a later date."
"Okay mate. I'll deal with this. What have you got with you?"
"A bag."
"Okay. Do exactly what I say. Open the bag up. What can you see inside it?"
"A cardi, a paté and cucumber sandwich x 2, a book on trees and a book on birds, a braeburn, a piece of tiffin, some suncream, 6 plasters, tube of Germaline, shades, a bottle of water, binoculars, 2 pens and a notepad."
"You've got your notepad?"
"Yes."
"And a pen?"
"Yes. Two of."
" Then just draw it man. Draw the eagle faced man tree."
"Draw it?"
"Draw it."
"Draw it?"
"Draw it."
"Draw it!"