The secret life of the GRASSHOPPER

I vividly recall a primary school day-trip to walk up Pontesbury Hill in Shropshire. It was a glorious day, and we ate our packed lunches sitting in the sunshine near the hilltop. After lunch, my friends and I spent a happy half hour or so trying to pounce on grasshoppers and catch them with our hands. The little insects were warm and quick, more often than not at least one jump ahead of our clumsy efforts, but we managed to catch a few and imprisoned them in a lunchbox until our teacher – who was a great lover of wildlife – sternly told us to let them go.

To this day I love nothing more than to lie on my stomach in a grassy meadow, watching