A sweaty man ran towards me, suffering the exertions of his morn- ing run. This was the first grid square I’d been to that was predomi- nantly residential. I stepped aside on the church path to let him pass, but he just touched the trunk of the yew tree in front of me and ran back the way he’d come. The tree must have been his regular turna- round spot. I wondered if he gave it any thought, or if he was focusing more on his split times and Strava ranking. 

If I was the sort of man who had a Top Ten ranking of trees in my head (and I am that sort), then I’d rank the yew far down the list. They look gloomy, suck away sunshine, and are hard to climb.