The journey begins in a row of allotments lodged deep between two north London streets. It’s 8.30pm and David Attenborough – 99 years young, in customary short-sleeved blue shirt and chinos – is on the hunt for Tottenham’s most elusive resident. He gets settled on a camping chair. Waits. Emits a tiny rhapsodic gasp as the creature in question appears. It’s a … fox.
“It’s still a huge thrill to see one suddenly emerging from the bushes,” he whispers to camera of a sight so bog-standard most Londoners wouldn’t bother looking up from their phones. “A totally wild creature!” Attenborough holds out a hand. Murmurs a delighted “hello”. The fox comes within a few inches of the greatest natural historian and broadcaster this country has ever produced, then slinks off into the night. What an encounter! And if you think that’s exhilarating wait until you see his reaction to a pigeon getting on the tube.
