Pushed to chose my favourite habitat I would probably plump for that associated with our tin can post-industrial landscape. It's the randomness of this habitat that fuels my facination with nature, chuck in some wetland features for good measure and I could almost believe in God. But this form of local distinctiveness and sence of place is becoming rarer than a teenage naturalist with the successive actions of government agencies effectively smoothing out these landscape wrinkles like an iron over a freshly dried pair of Levi's. Take the Old Town Dock riverside 'improvements' in Newport, gone is the unkempt land of Newport's industrial heritage where children made natural play amongst twisted metal and where saliors danced the hornpipe, in is bright new build with draughtsmen designed green space of rye grass and lollipop trees. Its therefore not hard to see why nature continues in free fall decline!
Thankfully there are still some brown spots left in Gwent where an old fashioned, miserable, notebook carrying naturalist can pursue his socially bizaar activities in contempt of modern ways. A midweek evening cobweb busting stroll around Canada Tips, Blaenavon is just enough to recharge the energy cells. Although the chilling wind suppressed much that needed to take to wing to survive just being in this landscape was enough for me.