Fox vs. Fox

Sorry to break up the Norway theme Katie, but I had to write this story up. On our way north from Wales to Scotland about 2 weeks ago, I had a really special British wildlife experience.
We had parked next to a wee loch for the night (as you will in Scotland), near the wonderfully named Ayrshire location, 'Great Hill'. As Rosie (Kate's mum) was travelling with us, I was sleeping outside while the girls shared the bunk bed in the 'van of power'. At about 2am, happily curled up and dreaming, I was woken up by a wet nose pressing against my forehead through the mesh of my bivi bag. Instantly awake and alert (huh..uh?), my first muddled thought was 'It's a Scottish wildcat!', cause I'd seen one on tv the week before. But no, it turns out I was being investigated by what seemed to be a juvenile (or at least a rather small) fox. Now before this my only glimpses of my namesake animal had been either grey shadows sneaking about London train stations, or the rank and slightly broken examples of roadkill brought into vet clinics. Certainly these (and by most accounts, all other) vulpines were not interested in hanging around and interacting with anyone, being wild dogs by nature. But it seems on this moony night, I had been found by a rather social (or perhaps just a hungry?) animal. Thrilled, I shifted onto my elbows and lay, looking out of my bag at the fox, while he/she (I'll say 'he') stayed half-crouching, about 2 feet away, and looked back at me. It was light enough that I could see his big whiskers, and could appreciate his proud and perfect tail. After a minute or so of this the fox decided he'd had enough, and trotted off past my bag and behind me. I thought 'Wow', and lay back down, thinking how cool that had been.
After another minute or so, I heard a scuffling noise right beside my head, and realised he was back, and was having a go at the rolled-up sleeping bag I had lying outside (Katie's warm winter Fairydown bag, in case I was cold). I shouted out 'Sod off!' and opening up my bivi, half-crawled out and grabbed at the bag, pulling it towards me. Amazingly, the fox was still there, standing six feet away now, but looking intently at me (and at the bag). I decided to lie really still, and to see what would happen next. Slowly, with his head lowered like a naughty dog, but looking me right in the eyes, he started creeping towards me. I lay there, and he got closer and closer, until we were staring at each other over the top of the bag, face to face, fox vs. Foxley. His mouth slowly opened, and he leaned even closer to the bag. I shouted out 'Yah!' and snatched my bag and retreated back into my bivi. More chicken then fox, perhaps, but at least I had the bag.
My only question now is, did he want the bag because it smelt like a person, or could he smell the goose-down inside? If it's the down then I should post a warning about sleeping in a bag outdoors in Britain, you might get a nip on the toes from a hungry fox!