Harrow Weald – 19th October 2026
Monday morning, and as usual I was up with the lark.
Although, come to think of it, are there any larks left at this time of year?
Pepper and I headed out into a wet and rather miserable Helmshore morning, accompanied by the familiar notification from Merlin reminding me to check my Bird of the Day.
Now, I have a great deal of affection for Merlin. Its ability to identify birdsong has become an invaluable companion on my walks, often helping me work out where to point my camera. Goldcrest? Check the evergreens. Pheasant? Have a look in the long grass. Little owl? Somewhere on that distant stone wall, probably disguised as a rock.
But occasionally, Merlin likes to issue a challenge that is frankly ridiculous for someone wandering the moors of Rossendale.
Today’s bird?
Ring-necked Parakeet.
Oh, come on, Merlin.
These wonderfully exotic-looking green parrots have established thriving populations across parts of Britain, particularly around London. Their origins have inspired all manner of stories, including supposed escapes from Kew Gardens, Jimi Hendrix releasing a pair in London, and birds escaping from the film set of The African Queen. Research suggests a rather less romantic explanation: repeated escapes and releases of pet birds over many decades.
Whatever their origins, they have clearly decided that British life suits them rather well.
They have spread beyond London to other cities, including Manchester and Glasgow, but I suspected my chances of encountering one on Musbury Moor were approximately zero.
Unless I visited a pet shop.
However, I had a secret weapon.
Unknown to Merlin and its pesky challenge, I was heading to London for work.
Game on.
After our soggy morning walk, I packed my things and headed south.
A Little Piece of Countryside in London
When working in this part of London, I usually stay at Grim’s Dyke Hotel, a beautiful Victorian country house tucked away amongst the woodland of Harrow Weald.
The house was built in the 1870s for the artist Frederick Goodall, designed by the celebrated architect Richard Norman Shaw. It later became the home of W. S. Gilbert, of Gilbert and Sullivan fame, who lived there from 1890 until his death in 1911.
The grounds are equally lovely, with old trees, gardens and woodland that seem a world away from the bustle of London.
I always pay a little extra for a room overlooking the gardens.
And on this occasion, it was money particularly well spent.
Having arrived and settled in, I stepped onto my balcony, opened Merlin and started listening.
Less than a minute later…
Ring-necked Parakeet.
Bird of the Day completed.
Take that, Merlin!
Feeling thoroughly victorious, I headed off to my meetings, already planning the evening’s entertainment.
Into the Woods
After work, I exchanged office life for walking boots, a heavy fleece and my camera.
Not just any camera arrangement, either.
I had brought the big wildlife lens, complete with its rather substantial chest harness.
I had big plans.
My destination was Bentley Priory, a remarkable patchwork of woodland, grassland and parkland on the edge of London.
The estate has a fascinating history, with origins stretching back to a medieval Augustinian priory. The mansion later became famous as the headquarters of RAF Fighter Command during the Battle of Britain, where Air Chief Marshal Hugh Dowding oversaw Britain’s air defence.
Today, much of the surrounding parkland is protected as a nature reserve, providing a refuge for wildlife amongst the ever-expanding suburbs.
And wildlife was precisely what I was hoping to find.
Badgers. Foxes. Owls.
All creatures we have back home in Helmshore, of course, but our open moorland and rural landscape can make them difficult to approach. I often catch distant glimpses, but getting close enough for a decent photograph is another matter entirely.
I was hoping the woodland might offer better opportunities.
Autumn had transformed the trees into a wonderful mixture of gold, copper, russet and green. The paths were scattered with the spiky cases of sweet chestnuts, while high in the branches, great clumps of mistletoe stood silhouetted against the fading evening sky.
It was beautiful.
And the owls were certainly about.
I could hear tawny owls calling through the trees, and Merlin suggested barn owl and, rather excitingly, long-eared owl too.
Unfortunately, the woodland was dense and the light was fading rapidly.
I listened. I waited. I searched the branches.
Nothing.
Not a feather.
The calls were tantalising, but without seeing the birds I couldn’t confirm Merlin’s more ambitious identifications.
Eventually, with darkness approaching, I admitted defeat and turned back.
So much for my grand photographic expedition.
Dinner for One
By the time I reached the road, it was too dark to return through the woodland, so I took the main route back towards the hotel.
And then I passed The Hare.
Now, The Hare on Old Redding is no ordinary modern pub. A licensed premises has stood here since 1706, when this part of Middlesex was still largely woodland, farmland and scattered settlements. The present building dates mainly from the early nineteenth century, and its old stables are a reminder of the days when travellers arrived on horseback rather than in expensive cars.
For centuries it has offered refreshment to people passing through Harrow Weald.
And on this particular Monday evening, I was very much in need of refreshment.
The temperature was dropping, darkness had almost completely settled and I was hungry.
The warm lights glowing through the windows were irresistible.
So in I went.
Now, I’m quite accustomed to wandering into country pubs looking a little dishevelled after a walk. In Lancashire, nobody particularly notices muddy boots, a fleece or a slightly windswept appearance.
But this was a rather smart corner of Middlesex.
And The Hare was busy with people who had clearly made considerably more effort with their appearance than I had.
Let us consider my outfit.
Dirty trainers.
Heavy walking fleece.
A particularly questionable bright orange beanie, washed so many times that the elastic has largely surrendered.
And, to complete the ensemble, an enormous camera strapped to my chest.
The harness is a wonderful piece of equipment for carrying a heavy lens, but when the camera is removed, it bears an unfortunate resemblance to an anti-stab vest.
I was, in short, looking magnificent.
I received a few curious glances as I made my way to a table for one.
Naturally, I ignored them.
Dinner was lovely.
The service was excellent.
And, apart from the waiter, nobody spoke a word to me.
We were nearly in London, after all. Conversing with strangers is simply not done.
Particularly strangers who appear to have arrived wearing tactical equipment and a fluorescent hat.
The Wildlife Had Other Plans
Suitably fed and watered, I dressed myself once more in my high-fashion outdoor ensemble and set off up the road towards the hotel.
It was properly dark now, with pale streetlights casting pools of light across the roadside grassland.
And then, quite by chance, I glanced through a gap in the hedge.
There, looking back at me, was the most beautiful black-and-white striped face.
A badger.
An actual badger.
Not a distant shape disappearing into the undergrowth, but a proper, unmistakable badger, remarkably close.
I was delighted.
Naturally, the camera came straight into action.
Snap, snap, snap.
The badger was considerably less enthusiastic about its modelling assignment and, after a brief inspection of the strange orange-hatted creature pointing an enormous lens in its direction, shuffled off into the darkness.
I continued towards the hotel, feeling rather pleased with myself.
But the evening wasn’t finished.
As I approached the entrance drive, two foxes suddenly appeared ahead of me.
They darted away before I had the slightest chance of taking a photograph, but I had a wonderful close view of them.
Two foxes!
And a badger!
After spending hours wandering around the woods hoping for precisely these encounters, the wildlife had apparently decided to wait until I was walking home from the pub.
The final quarter-mile up the long hotel drive was accompanied by the calls of tawny owls echoing through the darkness.
It felt like a rather fitting welcome home.
Back in my room, I eagerly inspected my badger photographs.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing of any use.
Apparently, a large lens, fading light and an uncooperative badger are not the ingredients for photographic success.
But I didn’t really mind.
Sometimes Seeing Is Enough
I had started the day in a wet Lancashire valley, being challenged by an app to find a parakeet.
By3pm, I’d beaten Merlin at its own game.
By evening, I’d wandered through beautiful autumn woodland, listened to owls, enjoyed an unexpectedly elegant dinner in a thoroughly unsuitable outfit, and encountered a badger and two foxes on the walk home.
The camera had failed to record the best moments.
But I had seen them.
And sometimes, that really is enough.
Although I do hope the people at The Hare appreciated the effort I made with my outfit.
That orange hat doesn’t come out for just anyone.
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