Stig of the dump

I had a call this morning to say that a programme I first proposed about five years ago about that great children's book 'Stig of the Dump' is not only to be made, but they want it before Christmas. After a flurry of emails and phone calls I went off to the woods to gather my thoughts, and it struck me that I have been in love with Stig ever since I first read the book when I was 10. Dens, scrapes, being out of the prying eyes of adults, woods, holes in the ground - I've always been much more at home on the mysterious margins than in the centre of things.

I walked about looking at the changing November light on the leafless trees when suddenly I saw a young roe deer in a clearing. Somehow he hadn't noticed me or Luna (a deerhound!) which makes me think he's young, daft, and has only just left his family. I could hardly breath, let alone grab a camera. Luna went stock still, and then he must have caught her scent, and he jumped high into the air and was off, noiselessly, his white rump bobbing like a will o'the wisp through the gloom.