A First Class Service

MothFirst thing this morning I photographed a moth conveniently spread out on the kitchen work surface.  When I showed the picture to Jackie she said ‘you know it’s dead, don’t you?’  She had picked it up from the floor and laid it to rest so that I would be able to photograph it.  Possibly she has me sussed.

For at least a week now the car has been throwing a spanner in the dashboard.  At intervals it has elaborated on this warning sign with the message Change Oil Service Required.  The vehicle was booked in today.  Despite really struggling with Shingles Jackie was determined to take it in.  So off we went to Ringwood.  Wells garage is just outside the town. Whenever we go there we wander to the shops and await a call from Tony to say the car is ready. Bistro Aroma Today, before shopping, we had brunch in the Aroma Bistro where the excellent food and friendly service is as good as it was when discovered in December last year.

Shopping included more photographic material from Wessex Photographic, among which were the Red and the Green Canon Series 8 inks.  So accustomed am I to no-one, especially Jessops, where I bought the printer, ever having these in stock, that I told the assistant I expected to have to order them.  She went straight to them and pulled them off the rack.  Most of the other six different inks required to make the printer work can be obtained somewhere or other, with the notable exception of the original supplier.  They are exhausted very quickly.  The red and green varieties can last a year, which is maybe why they are not usually on the shelves.

Walk of Art graffiti (3)It really took quite a long time for us to walk back to Wells garage.  The way is along very pleasant lanes and footpaths, except for the underpass that takes us to the requisite side of the A31.  Some civic authority decided to brighten up this route with art works.  Quite reasonable representations of well known paintings adorn the well-lit tunnel.  Walk of Art graffitiGiven that these are usually pretty dispiriting thoroughfares I thought this an excellent idea. Walk of Art graffiti (2) One would have hoped it could have deterred the graffiti wits.  Unfortunately not.  It even seems to have encouraged them. A Walk of Art The tunnel is named ‘A Walk Of Art’.  There is someone after my own ‘eart in an influential position in the town.

We had not received the usual phone call, but Jackie really needed to sit down, so we decided to return and wait at Wells’s, taking several rests en route.  Tony warned us that we would still have to wait for an hour and a half.  We settled down to wait, during which time we got talking to Hazel, the Managing Director of this long-established family firm.  I had been amused by her telling the others that she had been correct about an unnecessary bank query.  NatWest had corrected her addition of cheques paid in by machine.  She knew she was right and was able to prove it.  The amount in question was 20p.  Well, it was the principle that mattered.

Service at Wessex Photographic had been startling.  Service at the Bistro had been friendly and welcoming.  The car had been booked in for a short service, but what follows was extensive service.  As we spoke with Hazel, Tony appeared clutching a piece of broken front suspension spring.  Things were going to take a bit longer.  Not even knowing of Jackie’s illness, Hazel arranged for Peter to drive us home in one of the firm’s cars.  This friendly local man did so willingly. Having known the deceased owner for more than fifty years, Peter has a three morning a week job in retirement, doing any driving around that needs to be done.

Frozen brambles - Version 2

Back home, it was down to work in the ‘factory’. Frozen brambles - Version 3 After a lie-down Jackie was raring to go and getting me to produce cropped versions of pictures we had already used in toto. The frozen brambles is one example.  The benefit for her is that she doesn’t have to chop them up, just breathe down my neck whilst I play on the screen.

Today’s tally was 29 cards, bringing the total to 182.  After this Jackie was still able to produce our evening meal of keema, certainly not korma, curry; tandoori chicken and special fried rice.  My drink was Roc des Cevaliers Bordeaux superieur 2011; hers was Hoegaarden.

Clipped Wings

Continuing with the card-making process, I began by trying to understand why, when printing through iPhoto on the computer, pictures were being cropped in a frustratingly restrictive way.  In many instances this did not matter much, but when it came to a butterfly having its wings clipped this was intolerable.  So I got up this morning determined to crack the problem.

Essentially what was happening was that the iPhoto customising facility offered specific frame sizes and sliced the pictures to fit.  It is a while since I used my Canon Pro900 printer to any great degree, but I seemed to remember this not being the case with that piece of equipment in the past.  So what was happening?

It occurred to me that I was not seeing the usual box on the screen showing alternatives that come with the printer.  This offered me much more flexibility.  iPhoto must therefore be overriding it.  It is, of course possible that I have not fully understood the capabilities of the Mac.  Nevertheless, I had to find a way round this.

Peacock butterfly card

I thought I would work outside iPhoto.  How could I do that?  Then I had a brilliant idea. I would drag the pictures onto the desktop, open them up in preview, and print from there.  And what do you know?  It worked.  This had the additional bonus of the printer’s options for producing multiple copies of the same photograph on one sheet of paper.  Instead of having to find two different pictures that would conveniently fit together, I could now fit up to four samples of one image on the sheet.  I was able to rescue the poor Peacock, and to offer unpruned Clematis.Clematis card (long)

I had not used the butterfly at all, because the clipping would have ruined it.  The Clematis, however, had worked to some extent as a squarer image than the elongated one I had wanted. Clematis card (square) I was now able to use both.

Now, I am sure there are those of you out there who would have managed this in a much easier way, but please remember I am a septuagenarian, and when I was your age, before space travel brought the computer into its journey to the palms of your hands, we made do with film and chemicals.  And time.

Swan taking off card

The swan taking off is an example of the inventive creativity my able assistant brings to her part in the process.  Swan taking off inside cardNot having been able to decide the size of this print that would work, I produced two, one really rather too small.  Jackie decided to place the smaller version inside the card to echo the larger image on the front. This also involved considerable trimming so that the whole concept made sense.  Once having hit on this idea there was no stopping her.  Bits snipped off pictures began to turn up in all sorts of places, inside, on the back, to the left, to the right, in the centre.  Here a swan, there a swan, everywhere a swan.  When writing my inscriptions on the back I even missed some.

Despite her antipathy towards photographic cards, believing that such artwork should be drawn or painted, Jackie was heard on occasion to punctuate her work with such phrases as; ‘I could buy that one’.  It made me feel I must be doing something right.

We spent all day in the ‘factory’.  Today’s tally of products placed in the plastic wallets was fifty three.  That makes 153 in all.  Jackie thought that should have sufficed, but I found some more photographic paper that just had to be used up.  More were consequently printed.  The tally will be recorded tomorrow.                  .

Jackie still cooked a delicious hot arabbiata which I enjoyed with Lusac St Emilion 2011, and she with her customary Hoegaarden.  Before this I learned what it is like to water 83 pots so full of flowers that you cannot see the containers.  I just helped.  I didn’t fill the whole eighty three.

Morrison’s Petunia

Castle Malwood Card Making Factory

This morning the Castle Malwood Card Making factory, despite Jackie’s illness, was very busy.  Fifty three cards were added to the forty seven produced two days ago. Our division of labour remained the same.  My assistant is indispensable.  She does, however, continue to wonder what we will do with them all should they not sell.

Helen, having read yesterday’s post, kindly offered to help with the cards and bring a meal over.  She did, however, correctly judge that routine activity helps to take the mind off Shingles.

An intensive course of treatment to arrest the spread of the virus has been prescribed, but no-one thought about obtaining pain relief on prescription.  We therefore had to shop for Ibuprofen.  This meant a trip to a town.  We chose Romsey so that we could also check out a house over that way.  The reason it has been on the market so long that the price has been reduced, is possibly  that it has been hemmed in by in-fill building, some possibly in what were once its own grounds.  We won’t save that one to favourites.

Parking in Romsey was impossible, so we gave up and headed for Totton, where we bought the medication and went home to lunch.  The previous tenants of our flat have clearly not told a number of their friends that they have moved.  We are quite accustomed to receiving and forwarding their junk mail, but just recently there has been a spate of what are obviously greetings cards.  Dave has given us the Pikes’ new address, and we readdress their correspondence.  Another card came today, so we took it out with us to post.  It travelled to Romsey and to Totton, and finally back home, where I took it out of my jacket pocket and reinstated it on the hall table.  Perhaps I’ll remember it next time.  I doubt these cards are particularly urgent.  After all, the intended recipients moved at least a year ago.

As we sat in the sunshine this afternoon, through the Chequerboard fuchsia standing on a little occasional table, I could see some of the vast array of profusely filled pots, including one placed temporarily on the dry grass.  (It wasn’t me standing on the table.)

Morrison's petunia

This hanging basket doesn’t belong on the ground.  It has been positioned there to catch the afternoon sun, because it normally lives on the side of the building that doesn’t benefit from that.  This is all part of the committed nurturing that Jackie brings to her gardening.  What she particularly likes to do is to rescue supermarket plants that are often in such poor, neglected, condition that they are virtually given away.

The petunia in question had neither buds nor flowers, and its leaves were yellowed, when she bought it in Morrisons about a month ago.  Frequent doses of Baby Bio, sufficient water, and adequate sunshine regularly applied produced the thriving specimen we see today.  Many of the other plants in the garden have similar provenances.

Taking it slowly, our caterer-in-chief insisted on producing our dinner.  This consisted of slow roasted lamb chops and vegetables, including a courgette donated by Elizabeth’s neighbour, Jackie; sauteed potatoes; cabbage and carrots.  All very tasty, with a smattering of garlic.  New Forest ice cream was to follow.  I drank Roc des Chevaliers 2010 Bordeaux superieur.

A Little Inconvenience

Has anyone had a modern lavatory seat fitted that does not soon become loose and start swivelling round to give an unstable perch?  I’m hard put to think of any.  One unfortunate consequence is the need for frequent brushing of the porcelain sides because you are not sitting in a position from which a direct descent into the middle of the waiting water is possible.

Loo seatHaving become tired of the inconvenience, I got down and tightened up the offending nut.  Now I was surprised that the loose one was on the right when the seat always swivelled to the left.  Jackie, being of a far more practical bent, said ‘of course’, when I marvelled at this.  When I thought about it, it was obvious, really.  How successful I have been remains to be seen, because the four winged nut was clearly meant to be hand-tightened.  Perhaps that is the problem.

After this, and later on today I printed another batch of card-sized photographs.  In between these sessions we needed another trip to our GP surgery.  Jackie has been feeling distinctly below par, and this morning correctly diagnosed her virus.  The Lyndhurst surgery offers an excellent and patient-friendly service.  Brian, the triage nurse had been helpful to me when I had an eye infection soon after we arrived here.  He makes an appointment to telephone the person in need, and keeps it.  I didn’t need to go in.  He prescribed medication and it was soon ready for collection in the local pharmacy.  Today he correctly determined that Jackie needed to see a doctor, and made an appointment for an hour later.  All the doctor had to do was confirm that Jackie has shingles.  We collected the prescribed medicine and went on to Hobbycraft in West End to buy more card blanks and little transparent bags for the individual masterpieces.

A drink was necessary for Jackie to start on her medication, so we visited Haskins garden centre next door to the craft shop, for a coffee.  Now, I am not an aficionado of mass coffee outlets, and after the Starbucks experiences of 30th July, am pretty wary of them.  Beverages at Haskins are provided by Costa, and I didn’t really want one anyway, but made the sacrifice to keep Jackie company. Costa coffee Knowing I wasn’t particularly thirsty she, who bought the drinks, ordered medium sized ones.  I chose Americano.  This was American in more than name.  If mine was medium, I’m very glad we didn’t have large ones.

I was only joking yesterday when I said Margery’s bread would never be eaten.  Margery's breadWe started it with our late lunch today.  It is delicious, having a chocolate brown colour, a firm texture, and a touch of sweetness.  I am not knowledgable enough to name it.  Maybe the description will help in  its identification.

It seemed to me that the appropriate meal this evening for someone suffering from shingles would be a curry cooked by someone else.  Accordingly, we drove to Ringwood to patronise the Curry Garden, where we enjoyed the usual high standard meal accompanied by Kingfisher beer.

Of course, had we eaten at home we would have had to clear the card-making debris from the dining table.  That was another good reason for eating out.  We have completed 22 new cards today, although they still await my inscription.  Far more have been printed ready for Jackie’s part in the process.

A Margery Clarke Original

Card making

The Castle Malwood Card Making Factory is in production.  A very pleasant morning was spent producing forty seven cards from the pictures I printed a few days ago.  I print the photos and inscribe the finished cards after Jackie has Pritt sticked them onto blanks bought from Hobbycraft.  This has the benefit of her sometimes rather inventive cropping of those that are the wrong shape or size for the range we obtained at the shop.  Sometimes she has managed to make more than one card by chopping up a print – something I couldn’t have borne to do.

If we don’t sell any we should have enough for quite a few birthdays and special occasions to come.

Margery and Paul joined us for a salad lunch.  Jackie laid on an excellent spread for our visitors.  Margery, a professional artist, will be exhibiting at The Firs Open Studio, so it was natural that our respective works formed one of the topics of conversation.  Coincidentally called The First, their gallery has regular exhibitions.  I was therefore flattered when our guest suggested I submit some of the greetings cards at one.

We had forgotten to take the bread out of the freezer, but fortunately the sun’s rays were hot enough in the garden to provide a reasonable defrosting facility.  When she presented us with a gift she had made, Margery said she could have saved us the bother of the defrosting. Margery's loaf It was a small loaf embossed with our initials.  This of course can never be eaten.  It is not every day one is the recipient of a Margery Clarke original.

Incidentally the container in which the bread was transported is a Carte D’or one that had originally held vanilla ice cream. Carte D'OrI’ve always thought it pretty smart marketing of the descendants of Tom Wall to rename their product giving it an exotic title and a new lease of life.  I wonder whether the consultants who came up with the name and the rather effective logo cost as much as those who produced the angular design and weird mascots for our 2012 Olympics.

It was a shame to have to bring our party to a close because I had a GP appointment in Lyndhurst for another attempt to burn a wart off my left shoulder.  The very gentle young doctor who had tried a couple of months ago thought that she possibly hadn’t been severe enough last time, so I invited her to inflict more pain.  There was certainly a little extra piquancy this time.

St Michael & All Angels ChurchI had arrived ten minutes late, because of the usual traffic congestion entering the village.  She had been held up in the same jam, so it didn’t matter.  Actually I was a little more tardy than necessary.  We took the Emery Down route which is always less blocked than the A337.  The tailback did in fact start quite early.  We seemed to be getting nowhere so I decided to disembark, walk up to St. Michael & All Angels church and down through its precincts to the surgery.  I would meet Jackie later in the car park.

Readers could probably write the next few sentences for themselves, but I would rather like to do it myself.  After all, it is my blog.

After a few yards, the vehicles started moving again and I soon watched Jackie drive past.  We both imagined she would be held up again.  She wasn’t.  The next I saw of her was the car in the doctors’ car park.  She wasn’t in it.  She was standing at the reception desk explaining that I had been a little delayed, but was on my way.

This evening we dined on battered haddock and unbattered chips, and shared a bottle of Prestige Calvet Semillon Sauvignon 2011.

Cultural Change

Bunning, Jackie tells me, is the term given for heavy commercial vehicles lacking the requisite acceleration yet trying to pass others on the inside lane of a motorway.  When attempting this from the middle lane it can take several minutes for one to lumber past.  Those on the inside are generally not prepared to give an inch.  This is apparently one cause of the standing waves that can cause a disruption to the flow of traffic. Bunning on M27 We were subjected to an instance of such a snail’s race on the M27 this morning as she drove me to Southampton Parkway.  I wondered whether the unladen car transporter would have tried his luck had he had a load on board.

In order to turn off for the station we have to filter off from the inside lane.  Sometimes these vehicles obscure the sign, so, in the past, we have missed the turn.  When we know we are near it we must keep behind the marginally slower moving truck.  Overtaking the pair of them risks overshooting the exit, which is not want you want to do when you are aiming to catch a train.  Fortunately we now have it sussed.

Today I began reading ‘Carthage. A History’, by Serge Lancel.

George Irvin's FunfairFrom Waterloo I took the Jubilee Line to Neasden, where posters advertising George Irvin’s Funfair invited visitors to celebrate Eid (see post of 15th August last year) demonstrating how London’s culture has changed since the 1950s when I attended such attractions. Women approaching Church Road marketChurch Road market This progression is reinforced by the immigrants from across the globe converging on Church Road market in search of bargains.

William FryThe depot of William Fry’s scrap metal recycling centre, so often the source of ocular irritation from swirling dust, on this fine day looked almost attractive.

Parking meterIn the Borough of Brent it is still possible to pay for parking if you have the correct coins but no mobile phone.  The City of Westminster, for example in Sutherland Place, assumes all drivers wishing to use the meters do carry such devices.  Coins are not accepted.  Mind you, in Brent it is not only cars that are parked by the roadside.

A thriving carwash service is offered at the Harvest garage in Neasden Lane.  Today, as often, there was a queue, which sometimes causes a little congestion and consequent clamouring of car horns.

Car wash

Chancel House, diagonally across the road, has its own variation on the cattle grid, ensuring that cars do not enter by the exit. Chancel House 'cattle grid' As vehicles leave the car park which is protected by an electrified gate, their wheels depress the teeth waiting to spike any tyres attempting to cross them from the other direction.

Norman served up a luscious lamb shank followed by a sponge with a pineapple base, accompanied by an excellent Portuguese red wine.

From his flat I took my usual route to Carol’s, and after visiting her, boarded the frequent 507 bus to Waterloo.  Thence by train to Southampton where my lady awaited me in the car.

‘There’s No Need For That To Be In The Road’

Being a firm adherent of the adage attached to Robert the Bruce: ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try again’, I set off this morning in search of Dave’s lakes which I had failed to find yesterday.  For those who don’t know the story, King Robert I of Scotland, their fourteenth century monarch who fought against England, wasn’t doing very well.  He was doing so badly in fact that he sought refuge in a cave.  Whilst sitting there, pondering his next move, he watched a spider struggling to attach the thread of its web to the wall.  Back and forth, up and down, went the arachnid in its attempt to secure its fly trap. Eventually the apparently hopeless task was achieved.  Inspired by this, King Robert continued his guerrilla warfare until, at Bannockburn in 1314, a resounding victory secured independent sovereignty for his nation. What is good for a spider and a king is good enough for me.  This time I took a map and continued on the path the other side of Forest Road past Andrew’s Mare car park.  There I was given encouragement by the number of dog walkers coming to and going from their vehicles.  They must be travelling somewhere for pet frolics.  I fell in with a couple who confirmed that I was headed in the right direction.  The woman, identifying her dogs for my benefit, described them rather uncomplimentarily as ‘idiot Saluki crosses’.  Salukis in LakeApparently all the exercise they take is chasing each other after sticks thrown into the large lake. Salukis After watching the canine cavorting for I while, and feeling somewhat satisfied to have got this far without mishap, I studied my Ordnance Survey map very hard, and decided I would attempt to descend to Acres Down before returning via Newtown. Heathland FootpathI selected my path and strode across the heath. Ditch Had I paid a little more attention to the contour lines I would have realised that the one I had chosen descended steeply to a ford and rose equally as steeply on the other side.  Ascending the flinty gravel surface put me in mind of the very scary unstable scree that had made me cop out of the final push up Cumbria’s Scap Fell many years ago.  Anyone who has a similar phobia of heights will know that it becomes much worse when children are involved.  On this occasion, Louisa, then very young, had slipped on the loose stones.  That was enough to paralyse me.  Louisa, with her far more intrepid mother, reached the top.  I didn’t.  This was, however, a much gentler slope and not so far above sea level. A stream was forded just after a stone memorial Dave had told me I would pass yesterday.Murray's memorial  But, as we know, I was nowhere near it then.  Finding Murray’s memorial filled me with confidence and a certain smug satisfaction. Admiral Murray was killed whilst hunting on Backley Plain on 17th September 1901.  If you ask me, Sir Walter Tyrrell has a lot to answer for.  It was he who, allegedly accidentally, shot William Rufus not far away, thus setting an unfortunate precedent.  The story is told in photographs of the Rufus Stone posted on 19th November last year.  That memorial is about three or four miles away on the other side of the A31. Seeking further information about Admiral Murray and his manner of passing all I could find was a notice in the New Zealand Herald of 23rd November 1901 stating that he had been killed in the New Forest and had had a distinguished naval career.  This may or may not suggest he was a New Zealander.  Our antipodean friends seem to be a little short of pressworthy material, judging by The National, whose quiz Jackie and her workmates were encouraged to attempt each week by  her native colleague Brent. She still regularly attempts this puzzle. Murray's PassageAt the top of the slope is that rare thing, a signpost, leading to Murray’s Passage.  Not much good to anyone approaching it, as I did, from the lakes. Skirting Stonard Wood, as the map told me, I could go for broke and turn right down to Acres Down just to prove I could do it, or I could quit whilst I was ahead and aim for Newtown.  I chose the latter.  Once I correctly turned left the footpaths seemed to have been deliberately arranged in a series of celtic knots just to confuse me. Heathland footpath divides Had I always taken the right fork I would have arrived at my intended point on the Forest Road, the crossroads leading to Acres Down and Newtown.  I did sometimes.  But not always. When I noticed a cairn I had passed yesterday I didn’t know whether to be pleased or not.  CairnThis could either mean everything had gone horribly wrong or I was on the right track.  As confirmed by a pair of familiar rowan trees a bit further along, it was a bit of both.  I did emerge more or less on Forest Road, but not at my targeted crossroads.  I arrived at the Forestry Commission gate at the path to the lakes that I had gone through too early yesterday, about fifty or sixty yards from the A31. Well, I wasn’t going back along the road to the Newtown crossroads, so I retraced my steps alongside the major road, continuing rather precariously after the footpath petered out by Little Chef.  This earned me a ship’s foghorn blast from a huge lorry.  I think that was rather unnecessary.  After all, the traffic was nowhere near as fast as usual, when the slipstream blows you off your feet, and I was wading through brambles at the time.  The speed restriction was because of an accident that had slowed things up.  An ambulance crew in  a lay-by were checking out two unhurt young Asians gazing wistfully at the bashed-in offside front wing of their sprauncy red car.  Don’t ask me what make it was.  Be satisfied that I even noticed the colour.  One medic emerged from some bushes carrying what must once have been a bright new, red, bumper.  ‘There’s no need for that to be in the road’, he said to me. Unbeknown to me Helen and Bill had passed me on the A31 on their way to Castle Malwood Lodge.  They drew level with me as I walked down Upper Drive.  This time they offered me a lift.  I declined, reasoning that I could probably make it across our lawn.  As we all walked into our flat together Jackie informed me that she had just sent me a text asking if I wanted a lift.  She knew that, after yesterday, there was no way I would ask for one, yet it was getting a little late.  Had that come earlier I could have done with it.  My left calf is complaining somewhat of overwork. My one-time-sister-and-brother-in-law stayed for a pleasant conversation about Lincoln and its environs, where they had been on holiday and once lived, and which I know quite well. This evening Jackie and I dined on her  marvellous mixed meat stew with no apparent trace of sausage, followed by gooseberry and rhubarb crumble and custard.

Quite By Accident?

Storm of SteelLast night I finished reading the Folio Society’s edition of Ernst Junger’s ‘Storm of Steel’.  This is the story of the author’s experiences throughout the First World War.  So many talented writers did not survive ‘the war to end all wars’  – which of course it didn’t  –  that it is miraculous that such a great one came through alive with no more than twenty or so scars.  Junger’s simple, beautifully descriptive, language is the result of decades of polishing and reworking his young man’s diary notes.  He was nineteen when he arrived in France in 1914.  Not just another war memoir, the book is a true work of literature.  I have not read anything else of his, but I understand he became an acclaimed writer.  He does not take a stance.  He merely describes what he sees and feels.  He could have been on either side.

In his translator’s introduction Michael Hoffman is critical of earlier translations.  He has himself no doubt improved upon them and has contributed to my enjoyment of this work.

Next time Dave and Gladys recommend a walk, I think I’ll just make a few polite noises and forget about it.  This morning I was happily setting out on the trek I’d previously taken with Matthew and Oddie when I met them striding down past Furzey Gardens. They had been up to the garage on the A31 for their newspaper, and asked me if I’d seen the lakes.  I hadn’t, so they told me about them and how to get to them.

It tends to become a little complicated when two people offer one directions at once. Especially if they are slightly at odds.  I don’t want anyone to get the impression that what follows was the fault of our neighbours.  I am quite capable of going slightly awry without any help.  But, having crossed Forest Road, I wasn’t all that sure how far I should travel along the footpath to the right before I turned left.  I did get the bit about looking down over the valley, but somehow I didn’t realise the valley should be on my left, not my right.  So I turned left a little too soon and took a diagonal down the slopes.

The predicted rain held off until after I had returned home, but, on this dull, yet sultry, day my shirt became as wet as if it had not.

I did travel hopefully in search of the lakes.  Gladys had said I would come to Acres Down, where I knew there was a ford.  But I didn’t.  Not before I was tempted through a gate and up past some inclosures.  By that time I realised I must surely have skirted Acres Down.  But I didn’t imagine quite by how much.

Rowan tree

Nevertheless I enjoyed the walk along the paths of heath and woodland.  Rowan trees were in berry;Heather and Bracken bracken was turning brown; and heather was coming into bloom.  Ponies chomped away and a bird I could not identify from its sound called from the undergrowth.  It kept well out of sight.

Yellow lorry on A31

It was fascinating, and perhaps should have been a little alarming, to see how far away was the A31 that I had been walking alongside some time earlier.  When the photograph is enlarged, a yellow lorry in central far distance pinpoints the road.

This area was, as is sometimes the case, rather criss-crossed with footpaths.Paths through forest Unfortunately they are not signposted, so there is a fifty percent chance that the average person will, when faced with a choice of direction, turn the wrong way.  In my case of course it is one hundred percent likely.

Bridge over Long Brook

Eventually I did come to a bridge over untroubled water. Long Brook This surely couldn’t be Dave’s lakes.  If so they must have dried up a bit. Beyond this I saw the gate, went through it, and climbed up through fir trees and past several inclosures, one of which I thought I recognised from a walk with Berry.  Well I would, wouldn’t I?  They all look the same.

At last I came to a road I knew I certainly didn’t recognise.  Just to my left I discovered a Canadian War Memorial. Canadian War MemorialA large wooden cross stood in the centre of a collection of smaller ones, some having attached photographs of those young Canadians who gave their lives in the conflict of the Second World War. Canadian War Memorial plaque Regular services of remembrance seem to have ceased, but someone replenishes poppies.  Was it quite by accident that I had stumbled upon a remembrance of those sacrificed in the second great conflagration of the twentieth century, to follow the completion of Ernst Junger’s autobiographical record of the first? I certainly gave my thoughts for a while to that second multitude of young men who never had a chance to reach my age.  Will the human race ever learn?

From here I had no idea which way to turn.  A New Zealander was standing in the bracken near his car relieving himself.  As I approached he climbed into the driving seat and started up the engine.  I waved and asked him if he had any idea where we were.  He didn’t.  A couple of cyclists were more help.  They got out their map and demonstrated, to my horror, that I was at Bolderwood.  I knew that was some distance from home, but didn’t know quite how far.  I walked to the Bolderwood Tourist Information Centre where I was shown a map and told I was three or four miles from Emery Down.  I knew that Minstead was two and a half miles from there.  I’d already walked for over two hours.  That was enough.  I rang Jackie who came out to collect me.

Whilst I waited for my chauffeuse I had plenty of time to study the map.  I hadn’t gone far enough along the first path to reach the lakes.  The rather dried up stream beneath the bridge I had walked across looked like Long Brook.

When we arrived alongside The New Forest Inn at Emery Down, we realised we had probably found a route around the summer log-jam that is Lyndhurst.

Jackie’s mixed meat stew followed by rhubarb and gooseberry crumble and custard, provided our evening’s sustenance.  I drank more of the Roc des Chevaliers.

Aviemore Revisited

Bees on sunflowersJackie was thrilled this morning to see that the third of her sunflowers donated by the birds has bloomed.  She tried very hard to coach one bee simultaneously into each of her trio.  Two out of three can’t be bad.

For as long as I can remember Louisa has been disgusted at me for ‘wasting paper’ when I use A4 paper to print smaller photographs.  She has always said it is very easy either to use smaller paper or place two or more alongside each other, and I have always been reluctant to attempt to get my head round it.  When Elizabeth suggested I produced a series of greetings cards for sale at the Open Studio I knew the time had come to grasp the nettle.  By sending me a link on ‘how to print multiple images on a single page’ Chris ensured that I didn’t cop out of it.  I had a little trouble working out how to print the resultant document so that I could have it in front of me when I tackled my phobia.  I was doing this on my small Epson printer which chose that moment to require head cleaning.

Eventually I was as ready as I was ever going to be to try multiple prints.  I couldn’t produce more than one picture, although I thought I was following the directions reasonably well.  That meant I needed to ring my brother Chris for further elucidation. He realised that I couldn’t do it because I had only highlighted one picture on the screen.  I explained that I wanted multiple copies of one picture; not one copy each of multiple pictures.

Ah.  That was different.  By this time I couldn’t be doing with exploring this any further.  As I needed more than one copy of each picture I thought I’d settle for placing two different images side by side.  I did, of course, have to be instructed in the art of holding down the command key in order to keep more than one picture highlighted for the purpose.  Prints for cardsWell, it worked.

I suspect the final paragraph in the aforementioned article does explain how to do exactly what I want, but I think I’ll just rest on my laurels for the moment.  I’m a fairly old dog after all, and one new trick is enough for one day.

This afternoon Jackie drove me to Hobbycraft in Hedge End where we bought enough blank cards with envelopes and Pritt stick to produce a decent stock for the studio.Shrubbery

LiliesThe main event of the day was the eagerly awaited second open day of Aviemore in Bartley. Lily House leeksToday I will let the photographs utter their thousand words, for I wrote at some length about this marvellous village garden when we first visited on 2nd. June.

Sandy and Alex Robinson welcomed us most warmly, demonstrating their appreciation of my post of that day.

Blog (2.6.13) on displayDahliasClematisClematis (1)Indeed, a printout of the relevant pages was on display on the tables in the tea room, as well as an article from a gardening magazine.  I was very pleased, as  they had been with my piece.

Theda Bara?

Clematis shrubbery

Jackie thought that Mata Hari, reported lurking in the bushes last time, was probably being played by Theda Bara.

Bee on InulaDahliaPelargoniumMeadow Brown butterfly on InulaSpiky grass?The garden attracted a range of butterflies, including Meadow Brown and Cabbage White, bees busying themselves replenishing the hives, and other smaller insects such as flies, to which the eyes of my camera were more alert than those in my head.

The ‘meaty, stewy, veggy thing’ that Jackie served up this evening was deliciously tasty.  Among those ingredients that were identifiable were slices of pigs’ hearts, pork sausages, various vegetables and herbs.  Various different well-reduced stocks formed the base.  I am told that it is like ‘the lost chord’ and therefore cannot be repeated, which is a shame.  I drank Roc des Chevaliers Bordeaux superieur with mine.

No Peeking

Chris and Frances still being at The Firs this morning, we dropped in for a visit, just as they and Elizabeth were leaving the house for a visit to Chesapeake Mill. They all did an about turn, phoned Jacqueline who was at Mum’s, and very soon a Firs gathering was arranged.  Jackie saw this as an opportunity.  Seated on her garden bench, dangling legs working backwards and forwards as if getting a swing going, grin on her face, and excited tone in her voice, ‘can I go shopping?’, she cried, ‘can I?  Can I?’

Off she went on one of her favourite activities.  It was only fair that it turned out like this, because on the way to Elizabeth’s we had been to Sainsbury’s to obtain cash from the machine and to put bottles in the bank.  Isn’t it strange how things have changed from the days when a bank was a bank and a shop was a shop?  It had required some willpower for my lady to resist entering the aisles on that occasion.

While she was doing this I wandered around the garden without any need to be working on it.  Naturally the forthcoming Open Studio was one of the topics of conversation.  Elizabeth has taken a number of very imaginative photographs juxtaposing flowers and parts of instruments.  Day lilySome of the best of these feature day lilies and the body of a guitar.  Unfortunately, when taking these, she had inadvertently turned the date stamp facility on, which meant the dates appeared in a crucial corner of the pictures.  Those who didn’t realise that, surprisingly, it is not yet possible to work absolute miracles with software suggested she should edit out the figures that sit across the grain of the guitar wood.  Even if she were that skilled it would take far more time than she has available.  Yesterday there were no lilies left, so she thought she could not repeat the exercise.  Today there were a number of blooms flourishing, so she will now be able to.

Peacock butterfly on buddleia

In the scented bed that I created last year, a peacock butterfly demonstrated just why the buddleia is know as the butterfly bush.

Salad meal (Mum)

Jackie returned laden, and we all sat down around the kitchen table and watched her, Elizabeth, and Danni fill it with goodies.  Then we tucked into a vast array of food.  A bottle of Roc des Chevaliers reserve bordeaux 2011 was also shared.

Unsurprisingly, Danni was rather tired.  Last night’s performance of ‘Fame’, the second of the evening, was the last of the run, and a certain amount of celebration took place afterwards. Danni She attempted to settle herself on her sun lounger in the garden, but received quite a number of, no doubt congratulatory, phone calls.

Early this evening we went on a house window-shopping drive, taking in properties in Ringwood, Hightown, and Matchams.  The last of these was by no means the least. North Lodge It is a beautiful lodge house in an idyllic setting, somewhat isolated, yet exposed to significant traffic noise.  A gravelled path alongside it leads to an extremely high solidly gated fence, sporting a board announcing the BDOC.  Wondering what the Bournemouth & District Outdoor Club might be, we looked it up after supper.  It is a naturist organisation which has ensured there could be no peeking unless you happened to be about ten feet tall; have x-ray eyes; or invest in a pair of stilts.  North Lodge is probably beyond our means.

I hadn’t expected to eat again after that lunch.  However, our trip made us peckish and Jackie knocked up fried eggs, bacon and mushrooms, and baked beans.  That answered our stomach’s call.