Save the rabbits from the predatory BBC

For a while, as a 13-year-old, I was obsessed with rabbits — the consequence of having read Watership Down by Richard Adams. I tried to share my enthusiasm for the book with my parents, but my father told me that he thought the scenario depicted by Adams was ‘improbable’. However, they did consent to take me to that indeterminate, shifting area where the novel is set, with its back legs in Berkshire and its front paws in the last remaining unspoilt quadrant of Hampshire.

We were on the way home from a holiday at some grim Methodist guest house in the West Country and were undoubtedly tired from the drive. But still they followed me around with my map and tried to look excited when I suddenly proclaimed: ‘Look, that’s the combe where Bigwig met the fox!’ And a little further along: ‘I wonder if that’s the site of the Efrafa Warren!’ It was very kind of them to indulge me in this.