Stop: hammock time

There is something ineffably childish about a hammock. It shouldn’t be allowed: to spend half an hour gently rocking between the boughs of a tree. Certainly not on a Monday lunchtime.

But that is exactly what I did, once I’d figured out — and learnt to trust — the soft shackle fixings of my new sling.

It weighs scarcely more than a third of a kilo and can hold two of me (although that’s against the rules laid out in the instruction booklet, and not only because cloning humans is ethically dubious).

Tucked up in the canvas, I feel swaddled. Staring up into the fractal treeline, there is nothing to do here except relax. So I let myself gently down into the golden apricity.

Watching the birds fly overhead, the squirrels skipping from branch to branch and the pigeons wooing from the upper boughs.

I’d love to hear from you if you’re joining me on my attempt to spend thirty minutes in nature every day for thirty days. Give us a shout and let me know. We can swap notes. There’s only one rule: don’t miss twice.


For those of you interested in such things, I’m rocking a DD Superlight Hammock.