There’s a certain kind of magic that can be found in the early hours of the morning – before the city has fully woken up, the dog walkers throw the first ball, or the school run traffic begins its daily rhythm. That’s when I’ll set off into the dim light, spaniel in tow, with a folded shopping bag in my pocket.
We slip past the hospital, already abuzz with arriving staff. Over the old stone bridge, which knocks the breath out of me on every run. With each step I take, the noise of the city fades and is replaced by the flap of a woodpigeon’s wings. The sight of a hare in the sheep field across the canal or even a flash of a roe deer’s white rump down the farm track. But I’m not here for wildlife watching today, I’m here for the blackberries.