Driving to the Bluebell this morning we encountered deer in Brasted, just south of the M25, which is about 30 miles nearer London than I've ever met deer before*. My father slowed down after the first popped out of the hedge and crossed the road, which was fortunate for the second one that popped out a few seconds later. The gardeners of Brasted may not think this so fortunate.
* I'm not surprised to see deer in Ashdown Forest. In fact, one crossed the road in front of me only last night, just after Wych Cross, but it's a strech of road where they seem to sit and go "ooh, nice warm black stuff," so it's wise to drive in the expectation of meeting them. Much like expecting to meet horses on the road between Balcome and Ardingly.
