I write about the boar. But first let me describe myself. I am not Forest born, though I am Gloucestershire born. I have lived in the Forest for only 30 years.

The boar have not, yet, invaded my garden. I have no dog for them to worry. I have just seen them though my wife almost crashed into one.

Long ago I did run into a sheep on my motorbike which meant a repair bill, for the bike, not the sheep, and some plasters. So I have had some contact with the destructive potential of our Forest fauna.

But I write in support of the boar. The Forest is one of the few wild areas left in lowland England and the boar help to make it wild.

I know people see the churned up verges and gardens and wait for the first dog to be gored. If you really do not want them then it means we also need to get rid of the sheep – the car accidents – the poo.

While we are at it, the deer need to go – they can be a menace. Blimey, rabbits – some myxomatosis would sort them.

Good heavens – foxgloves. They are poisonous. No, no, I cannot stop – stingers (think of the small children who suffer), brambles. I have just returned from a walk in our wild wood and it was seeing the terrible mud that boar create that made me think, mud. Just like cyclists. Heavens, we need cyclist traps hidden among the trees to sort them and their mess out. Hang on, trees. Don't they fall down? My goodness that means...

– Derek Pawling, Mile End.