It is mid-August. The early sun is lighting up the treetops against a pale blue sky. You're hiding out in this rural wood which is typical of any in the South East of England. You're listening to it waking up with the sounds of jovial wood pigeons, rasping rooks, sparkling wrens and robins. Rabbits hop about between the trees, over carpets of dry leaves. As if from nowhere a woodman starts work, clearing fallen branches. Miles away, the A12 flows with traffic, softened by the distance into an oceanic haze. Pheasants prowl under the lazy arc of a passing jet aircraft. Escape to this secret place and watch through your ears as the new day unfurls.

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