I've been mixing up my life lately, out with the old and in with the nude, I say. Rather than wake up and grease myself head to toe with Macadamia oil to stop the bed bug itches, I've been using them to motivate me to keep moving, whilst my burlap garb caresses my sores like a lover's kisses. It's amazing what wonders it does for the mind to not only move, but to observe.

For example, I had no idea that only a short waddle from my current squat is a well-maintained park with gamekeepers and all the animals a man could eat for years. It's now become my morning ritual to make my way over and see what a grizzled-up white boy like me can forage for, or hunt, when needed. I've found a few foxes, many ducks (but these are a little easy, you can always count on a duck for dinner if you strangle them at a nesting spot). What really intrigued me was the Swans.

I've always fancied myself a man who could fight off a swan with one hand behind my back, as a handicap. Afterall, a swans wings are little in the way of arms of a man, but its strong neck and beak, I feel, make a decent weapon. Turns out swans aren't that hard to take out. I battled two upon an early morning fog with the beams of God casting colosseum angelic for my foe and I, framing our scuffle.

I've got that second swans head guarding my belongings now. The less said about the first swan, the better.

But it's not just large M&S ducks you can find in this park, you can stalk deer too. I've been collecting the antlers left over and smashing them up with an old car battery on some paving stones and consuming it for the nutrients. I've already felt the difference - they say deer antler is an aphrodisiac - If I knew what that meant, I'm sure I could comment.

If you sneak up on a sleeping deer, masking your scent with your own urine (don't use foxes, it smells terrible), you can get right up to them. I've tried to teach them to let me ride them but I've been thrown off most times, and they don't really seem big enough up close to ride. I always pictured them more like horses; large, muscular, measured in hands, but when I put my hands against the first deer I approached it sprang up and kicked me so hard I broke my collar bone. I still hear it crunching when I raise my left arm.

Beyond that, I've not had the best luck in the park. There's plenty of eggs at the right time of year, but that's long since passed. The deer have become more fearful at night; their once skittish nature has transformed into full-blown fear at any noise, or perhaps it is my smell. I must try other urines and see what works.