My dream home is a den in the woods

Caistor St Edmund, Norfolk Today, however, I cannot be a hermit. There are stick-swinging children, scurrying woodlice and cross-looking treecreepers

When modern life seems too much, I dream of living in the woods. I'll be a mad, feral woman eating hazelnuts and tending a fire obsessively. It's this specific wood where I would go, with its deciduous mix of ash, oak and chestnut, its sandy badger sett, wild garlic, bluebells in spring, and the clear, fast-flowing water of the gravel-bottomed stream. Known as Fox's Grove, it's just a few miles from the centre of Norwich.

Today, I am not a hermit. I have a troop of children for company, who are enthusiastically den-building and stick swinging. They've collected plenty of dead wood and a wigwam shape is emerging from their collective imagination. I am happily redundant, sitting under a large beech tree, on a comfortably curved root. My fingers are drawn to the mulchy earth, into leaves and soil, as I inhale that musty, fungus scent.