The CIA of the countryside

There was a freeze-frame moment as an animal activist sat warmly in my car and asked:

"Do you like running?"

I was polite, it was clearly one of those questions requiring a reciprocal answer, and I replied:

"Yea, I used to run quite a lot."

I should admit the colour of my trainers suggests I run in gleaming white snow.

At least I own a pair.

Anyway, I followed a Landrover from Southampton train station, not sure which hunt we were going to.

It also came to light that many of these other activists sitting in the car ahead, otherwise know as hunt saboteurs, were dressed in a severe amount of camouflage regalia.

I was wearing an anorak, though I did have wellies in the boot. My mate James Tegerdine was attired in his usual skinny jeans and plimsoles - still muddy from falling over in the New Forest.

We arrived in Reading, I was more than surprised, I thought we were going to the New Forest.

Either way it was to be an interesting day.

Mid-forest, middle of nowhere, and these covert countryside operatives began communicating via walkie-talkie.

It was like Spooks had got lost down a country lane.

However the hunt sabs were trying to find a particular hunt - I was really half hoping they wouldn't be able to locate them for fear of the unexpected.

By the way I was filming this for my fox hunting documentary, I'm not an animal activist dogger don't worry.

Before I knew it we were running, for hours, on what seemed to be some sort of cross country marathon. Now I could see why my animal activist guide had asked me about this fast footed sport.

There was some commotion.

Hounds howling, hunters horning, saboteurs running and me severely confused.

If you can picture an albino sheep in the Serengetti, this was me on a hunt saboteur.

It was like the BBC's Countryfile mixed with top gear, on foot.

I can't say it was particularly fulfilling; the saboteurs were friendly types with good intentions but when the sound of a possible fox in trouble aroused, a sense of chaos arose, with whips swiped at the ground and inventive sounds out of their mouths.

Not extreme swearing, more dog whisperer - they were trying to distract the hounds from lunch.

When the day had ended and the hunt went home, I gave my animal activist a lift back, it was about an hour and a half drive, and James, my mate, suggested a famous fast food chain as a well-timed stop off - we were really hungry.

Unfortunately we forgot our passenger was a vegan.