The last time I slept out was in Holland’s Wood campsite, near Brockenhurst, this week last year, the first week after the end of the school holidays, when the New Forest Tour Bus was still running. The first time I went to Holland’s Wood was the same week five years ago, when I took the bus for the first time. I don’t know if they’ve been running it this year, but if so this will be the last week.

What struck me then was not just the beauty of the landscape, but also the way the Forest has the feeling of an island, so that distances become distorted, and place names which are on ‘the far side of the forest’ suddenly appear on signposts as being 8 miles away. It feels like a quaint and mystical land, and yet the M27/A31 and the mainline from Waterloo to the West Country run straight through its most northerly, wildest part.

And it’s on my doorstep. On any given day, I could get in my car, drive down the motorway, and within an hour I could be enjoying a cream tea at the Buttery in Brockenhurst, or buying local produce at Setley vineyard, or drive a little further to watch the boats in Lymington Habour. Taking the train down to Dorset – which I did for a few years even before I moved here – I’ve always felt a buzz of excitement after we leave Southampton, and start looking out for the first ponies grazing near the tracks.

Hollands Wood is my favourite of the (admittedly not very many) campsites that I’ve stayed in – though I’ve never stayed longer than a couple of nights – there’s no electricity, although the reception will charge your phone up for you for a pound. But you can camp under the trees, and wake in the morning to see the ponies appearing out of the mist lifting over the ‘lawn’. Or catch the bus into Lyndhurst, from where the Forest is your oyster.

Having lived most of my life in Bedfordshire, where the Home Counties meets the Midlands and East Anglia between the M1 and the A1, the New Forest is for me a reminder of how surprising England can be. Not that there aren’t interesting places and pretty countryside there too, but you can draw a circle 50 miles in radius around Bedford and not find anything quite so special.

Ah well. Maybe, in the coming autumn and winter, I’ll take the van out regularly and have picnics, as I always plan to – or maybe I’ll just hunker down like I do every year.

I thought I’d come straight to the computer and start writing, but I fed the cat and let her out, then wondered whether to make coffee, because usually I do my exercise first, and then should I use my espresso pot or the Tassimo, which is quicker but only makes a small cup? And thinking about how I should start, where I should start, about moving here and what it is about the south coast for me, and when did I first go to the New Forest, what is the attraction? And issues around the van, because it’s brought me so much stress and expense down the years, but I have to not think about that, and that’s a split infinitive, but apart from the fact that it’s quite passé to care about split infinitives, it’s important because what I was trying to say there is subtly different from how else it could be said: ‘can’t think’ or ‘mustn’t think’ is different from a choice to ‘not think’ about something, so arguably that two word phrase is a verb in itself, and ‘to not think’ is the infinitive form of that compound verb.

Speaking about ‘choice’, the choice about coffee is a decision in itself, with the factors of speed, flavour and quantity of coffee all having to be taken into account and balanced, and the outcome of that decision (to prioritise speed and use the Tassimo) is that the coffee has already gone and I haven’t finished writing.

Which reminded me of a conversation I had yesterday with the garage man about keeping UHT milk in the van (his suggestion), but once it’s been opened, it only keeps as well as normal milk, so I might as well just take a small bottle of fresh milk with me each time, which is what I do.

This is how my mind works all the time – bouncing from one apparently trivial and meaningless thought to another. I used to assume that it was the same for everybody, but that other people were better than me at cutting through the crap and dealing with it. Now I’m beginning to understand that it goes deeper than that. That’s why the idea of ‘thinking visually’ blew my mind, though I’m now coming to think that that’s probably not as prevalent as I’ve been led to believe – I honestly don’t see how it could be. Thinking is thinking and it’s made up of words and depends on words, and that’s that.

Whatever, it’s only going to get harder as we move inexorably from the light half of the year into the dark.

Had a day out yesterday, with my camper van, which only got back on the road after lockdown last week. Another new battery, another stern warning from the garage that I need to use it regularly. The new (refurbished) battery they fitted last year was so tightly connected that I couldn’t disconnect it over winter, so when I tried it in March they said they would come and recharge it, but it wasn’t a priority either for them or for me in the following months, so although they’ve had the keys all that time, I hadn’t been chasing them about it.

Well, it’s going now, and last week I took it out for a picnic in the Queen Elizabeth Country Park, off the A3 heading for London, and my favourite go-to place for a significant non-overnight jaunt. Yesterday I went in the other direction, to the New Forest, which I’ve never done as a day out before, always camped, even though it’s only an hour’s drive. I had a vision of a memory from the last time I was there, this time last year, of the empty moors covered with purple flowering heather, seen from the open-top tour bus. I had another memory too, from a few years earlier, when I drove my old Micra back from Dorset to Bedford over two days with an overnight stop in Salisbury, of walking on the same moors in early summer.

I should write more about this. Why am I reluctant to write about happy things? Perhaps because I’m afraid I can’t do them justice? Or because, when you try to describe something like that, you – I – never feel I can capture the essence of what made it special? Like trying to take photographs and then being disappointed with all of them. Writing words and being disappointed with all of them. I got lost, I found somewhere to stop, sat on a tree stump and looked at the view.

Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.