Exploring a stretch of The Saxon Way, I’d hoped to see a slow-worm, but had to content myself with desiccated remains. Back in Dover, a movement caught my eye. ‘Stop!’ I yelled, throwing out both arms. My two companions duly froze. At our feet, a mercuric sliver. Gently, I scooped the creature from the hot pavement. It flicked it’s tiny forked tongue, testing, tasting. I ran a slow finger along the smooth sinew before slipping it under a gate. My day was complete.