No matter how many times you visit Great Britain it is a constant surprise
just how such a modest area of land can pack in more than 64 million people and yet have seemingly endless tracts of beautiful countryside. In Shropshire recently I walked down lanes so narrow you could stand in the middle and, with arms outstretched, almost touch the wall of hedgerow on either side. I watched as, ahead of 
me creatures scrambled, scuttled, hopped, scampered and, in the case of the imperious Grouse resplendent in his courtly plumage, imperiously strut from one side to the other. I walked through woods so seemingly quiet you could hear a leaf as it danced daintily from branch to bracken frond to grassy bank. Gone were many of the vibrant greens that signposted the richness of spring and summer. Replacing them was a jewel box of yellow, oranges and reds. Autumn’s dazzling display that briefly defies the call of winter.
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