I’m just wild about Attenborough’s Wild London, I urge you to watch it
Over the years I’ve done my fair share of travelling and it’s not all been all long leisurely lunches in Italy and points south (though I confess to many of those). What has heartened me as much as the Bistecca alla Fiorentina washed down by Tuscany’s finest has been the natural world of the many countries I’ve visited.
Off the Barrier Reef I swam alongside a huge basking shark which, before a more knowledgeable companion pointed out had no interest in making me its dish of the day, had me heading to the safety of our boat. On the same trip I bottle-fed a baby koala, orphaned when his mother was killed by a truck. In Pakistan I was mesmerised by the sight of dozens of turtle eggs opening and the tiny hatchlings waddling precariously to the sea.
On safari in South Africa I watched with a mix of horror and fascination as a lioness killed and ripped apart a deer and then, later on that trip, was chased by an elephant which, I quickly learned, was capable of a speed of 25mph while our Jeep over the roughest of rough tracks could fare no better. In Tuscany a few years ago I was out shopping in the small town near our rented villa when in came two wild boars clearly in need of supplies. When they found nothing, out they sauntered out and the locals told me that it was a daily occurrence. La Dolce Vita!
Closer to home when I lived in the country we were visited nightly by foxes, obviously well fed because they would sit in a leisurely group on our terrace joined by one of our cats and occasionally by a badger, all co-existing in harmony. I found that sight in the unwilds of Tatsfield every bit as full of wonder as anything in the wilds of Africa.
These memories came flooding back when we watched the BBC’s Wild London, an unmissable hour in which David Attenborough looked at the wild animals which have made the capital their home. Foxes galore, more than in any other big city, and more per square km (30) than in the countryside (just one or two). Why? Because food is so plentiful, our left-overs, not so much to be found in our dustbins as in litter bins of the street. Chips, kebabs, curries and Chinese takeaways, these nocturnal scavengers have a diet as varied as our own.
More remarkable is the presence of hundreds of peregrine falcons nesting in the City skyscrapers and in the towers of the Palace of Westminster, hunting London’s one million pigeons for their prey. In one astonishing sequence we saw a falcon, top speed 200mph, chasing a flock of pigeons, capable of about 60, and catching one mid-flight.
As for the fallow deer, first introduced to Britain by the Romans, they are everywhere, not just in the capital’s parks like Richmond, but in almost every wooded area. We had them visit us when I lived in Tatsfield: they would come out of the woods at the rear of our house and on one occasion the little buggers made a meal of several of our roses.
In the same garden I had a robin follow me wherever I went and my old friend Aylett has a vixen padding by him when he does the weeding. Another local has parakeets by the dozen squawking a racket in her garden trees and several pheasants, one of which almost eats from her hand.
Do watch Wild London. It’s a revelation and so too is the fact that Attenborough is just five months short of 100 and still going strong. The man is a marvel and No 1 as everybody’s dream dinner party guest. I shall give some thought as to who else should be invited and maybe that will be an item for these musings next week.
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We are all having to get used to AI and on a whim I asked ChatGPT to describe the Daily Drone in the style of P G Wodehouse. This is the result delivered in less than 20 seconds. Clever people these Chinese!
One approaches it much as one might approach an elderly aunt's drawing room: with mild apprehension, a sense that something educational is about to happen, and the comforting knowledge that, whatever else occurs, one will not be bored to extinction. The homepage greets the visitor briskly, like a butler who has seen it all and still disapproves of most of it.
Headlines stand to attention. Subheadings clear their throats meaning-
fully. There is, in short, an atmosphere of purpose.
The Drone's articles are written in that firm, slightly wheezy tone suggesting that the author has strong views, has always had strong views, and sees no reason to abandon them now merely because the internet exists.
Politics, culture, and the general moral condition of things are dissected with the care of a man slicing cold beef who does not intend to miss a morsel. One may not always agree with the conclusions, but one cannot deny that they have been arrived at with admirable confidence.
Navigation about the site is refreshingly straightforward. There are no pop-ups leaping from behind the curtains shouting "Subscribe!" like overexcited spaniels. Instead, the menus sit quietly, waiting to be clicked, much as Jeeves waits quietly, knowing full well that in the end you will need him.
What truly distinguishes the Daily Drone, however, is its unshakeable belief that words matter. Sentences are given room to stretch their legs. Arguments are allowed to finish their cigars before being ushered out. In an online world inclined toward hysteria and emojis, the Drone remains calm, articulate, and faintly amused at the whole business.
One leaves the Daily Drone website feeling slightly better informed, marginally more opinionated, and with the vague impression of having spent time in the company of someone who wears a tweed jacket indoors lis entirely justified in doing so.
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I have harrumphed here before about the Honours system but if we are to have one it surely must be reserved for people who have achieved more than just being good at their well-paid jobs. In other words, those who have done something for their community by way of charitable service. Knighthoods, peerages and the rest should not be given to civil servants and MPs as a sort of Buggins’s Turn and never to editors for supporting a government. We all know who I’m talking about.
Larry Lamb got his K because the Sun had been a Tory champion. When he took over at the Express, in his first week he invited (commanded actually) me to lunch at the old l’Ecu de France in Jermyn Street. We arrived and he was warmly greeted: “How very good to see you Mr Lamb”. To which the maitre d was quickly corrected by ‘Mr’ Lamb. “It’s Sir Larry now”.
Last week’s New Year Honours gave a K and a damehood to Torville and Dean who indeed had been good at their peculiar jobs but had done little apart from that, except for opening the odd local fete. That hardly rates as working for charity.
Yet Eva Schloss who has just died at 96, an Auschwitz survivor and stepsister of Anne Frank, who worked tirelessly for years telling school kids about the Holocaust, merited a mere MBE. Mervyn Kersh, a D Day veteran aged 101 was given an even lowlier British Empire Medal (BEM) in this year’s list for educating children about the horrors of the Nazis.
The answer to such abnormalities is to scrap Honours save for maybe the Order of Merit and Companion of Honour which is limited to a dozen or so very worthy people like David Attenborough who is a member of both. We certainly shouldn’t tolerate honours which are bought either through contributions to a political party or by the use of a company like Awards Intelligence which will lobby on your behalf. For a substantial fee.
My old headmaster, the formidable Dr Stanley Worrall, worked flat out for peace in Northern Ireland in the 70s and 80s bringing together the IRA, church leaders and government, achieving a three-month ceasefire. He was given the CBE, one down from a knighthood and if we must have an honours system that’s the sort of justifiable reason for it.
Not for skating on ice, thin or otherwise.
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AND FINALLY
Who said, and I paraphrase: “He is a criminal who seized power by rigging an election, turns his army on his citizens and whose aim as president is making money for himself”? Was it Trump on Maduro or Maduro on Trump? Answers on a postcard please.
ALAN FRAME
6 January 2026
