Shelly visited us briefly this morning, before we set off to Wroughton to see Frances and take her her pictures.
Our sister in law was pleased with her pictures, and we spent the afternoon speaking of recent weeks, of the impending funeral, and of more than forty years close relationship. Fiona arrived shortly before we left, and was able to join in.
This trip involved Jackie driving for a total of five hours, during which time we listened to Radio 4 a lot. The news items were repeated throughout the day, so much so, that were I, in later, years to be asked where I was when Oscar Pistorius’s sentencing was announced, I am fairly sure I would be able to answer the question.
On our return home we dined at The Jarna in New Milton. Jackie enjoyed her butter chicken and mushroom rice, as I did my lamb vindaloo and special rice. We shared an onion baji and a plain paratha, and both drank cobra. Although I like my curries very hot, I have not ordered a vindaloo for quite a number of years. This is because it doesn’t make sense to eat both potato and rice. Traditionally, in this country, vindaloo has been regarded as the hottest meal. It doesn’t need to be, because it just refers to the method of cooking, with vinegar and potato. Anyway, I thought I’d try it tonight. It was perfect, with very tender lamb, and only one potato.
Now naga chilis are more freely available, if they are on the menu, I will choose them, allegedly the hottest in the world. Interestingly, jalfrezi is often currently the hotter offering in restaurants.
Probably the naan is a more popular Asian bread than the paratha. Appetising enough, the former looks bigger because it comes puffed out. Jackie and I prefer the taste of the latter which is flatter and rather more buttery. The reason I like it is because it reminds me in look and taste of my mother’s potato cakes. 
Anyone familiar with the spot lighting in The Jarna will appreciate that this paratha is not actually green, but is tinged with the colour of the overhead bulb. Had we been seated in another alcove it may have been blue. This element does take a little getting used to.
Month: October 2014
‘The Face Of A Chrysanthemum………..’
Backlit by the morning sun, the turning leaves of our weeping birch blended well with Frances’s Duchy of Cornwall sunflowers, and contrasted with the red prunus foliage.
A road traffic mirror fixed to a post on the corner of the road into the Country Park reflected the scene in Shorfield Road.
This, although a bit breezy, was a bright T-shirt morning. I varied my Milford on Sea walk, in reverse, a little, by taking a footpath along the back of the static caravans in Sea Breeze 
Way. There I met Len and his West Highland terriers Hamish and Angus. I told their owner the story of Billy, my maternal grandmother’s Westie. This little terrier was quite happy to allow visitors into the room, but turned savage when they attempted to leave. Len then described the breed aa ‘a large dog in a small body’ known as having ‘the face of a chrysanthemum and the tail of a carrot’.
Turning right into Blackbush Road at the end of the path led me to the gate of Fox Hat, the home of Giles, our friend of forty four years. One of his stained glass pieces of artwork enhances the entrance. I knocked at his door and we had a brief conversation before he had to leave for an appointment. From there, I soon picked up the path through the nature reserve.
A couple of crows picking at the grass on the cliff top, unusually ignored two passers by. Maybe at least one of them was distracted by me. Further on another of these birds took off, like Peter Pan, leaving its shadow behind.
This afternoon I made two A3+ size prints of the feature portrait from the post of 17th, one each for Frances and Mum. Later, Jackie drove us to Hobby Craft at Hedge End where we bought picture frames, and to Elizabeth’s where we mounted the photographs. We took Mum hers, stayed with her for a while, then returned to my sister’s and thence to The Farmer’s Home at Durley where we dined on the usual good fare. My choice was gammon, whilst the two ladies enjoyed pork loin steak. We all then had the lightest sticky toffee pudding. Jackie drank peroni, and my sister and I shared a carafe of Merlot. Afterwards we delivered Elizabeth to The Firs and Jackie drove us home.
‘Your Own Back Yard’
I do hope my Hordle Cliff walk has not yet become boring for my readers. It is, you see, the safest route to take from the house. I trod it this pleasantly mild morning.
The cattle on the hillside seemed divided as to whether we were due more rain. Apparently they sit down when it is expected.
A solid bank of cloud over The Solent met the inland blue skies, forming a fascinating diagonal echoed by an evaporating jet stream.
Pondering on my ramble, I thought of Chris Weston. This other Chris had ably led a weekend tutorial on digital landscape photography. In September 2008 I was still using positive film to make colour slides, but knowing I would learn much from this man I accompanied Elizabeth on the weekend course. I was in fact the only person without a digital device.
The best place to seek out subjects, according to our tutor, is ‘your own back yard’, that is territory with which you are most familiar. He was fortunate in having Portland Bill on his home ground. He took us out on a splendid Dorset dawn, and let us wander. Elizabeth famously doesn’t do mornings, and had said the night before that she may not surface in time. As she staggered into the lounge where we were gathered, she received a round of applause.
Here are some of those early morning images:
Peering down through the rocks, many of which bore chiselled graffiti, produced interesting abstracts, and various artefacts such as rusty chains were enhanced by the early morning sun.
We also learned about the nature of light, the best for landscapes being early or late in the day. At midday the overhead brightness is too strong. We returned in the evening, when we took more pictures:
A couple sat among the rocks, as the clouds gathered against the setting sun.
The rock formation that is known as Durdle Door stretched out to sea.
This afternoon I decided to tackle BT. Again. This time in relation to the TV account. Since we moved home in April we have not watched much television. We have begun to do so a little, and have been having problems accessing BT iPlayer. Today a message came up on our screen informing us that there was a problem with the BT TV account, and giving a telephone number to ring. I called them. I was told that we should have activated the account when we moved. I said we had arranged for this when our account was transferred from our previous address. The adviser kept repeating that we had paid neither for activation nor the monthly charge since we left Minstead. I reiterated that our bills state, by a blue tick against the item, that they include TV from BT. Eventually I twigged what was going on. The BT representative was reading page 3, where the bill is broken down. I was looking at the total on page 1, which says ‘This bill is for:’ and lists Telephone, Broadband, and TV, all of which are ticked. No-one told us we should reactivate the TV separately when we arranged for the transfer between homes, nor that we were not being charged for the service. As I said, I didn’t examine the bills that intricately, given that the total was always more or less the same and listed the services opposite the total. Eventually the woman to whom I was speaking got the message and undertook to pass on my observations. I said I would do the same in the automated survey of customer satisfaction that would follow the call. I hope she had more luck than me because when answering the survey questions I was thanked for my participation and bade goodbye before I had finished. This was interesting in the light of the survey’s introduction statement that ‘we do listen to what you say’.
If I had any confidence in any other conglomerate offering a better service I would change our service provider immediately.
Danni came for a visit this afternoon and helped me produce one composite photograph and a couple of large individual prints for Frances of her muntjac deer. This involved investing in the Pages application for the iMac. Whilst this facility was being downloaded 
we wandered around the garden and disturbed a vole that was hiding behind the Heligan Path sign. Danni photographed it with her mobile phone.
Our niece left us briefly to dine with Andy and his mother and brother at The Royal Oak. Jackie and I enjoyed chilli con carne (recipe) and wild rice. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Kingfisher. Then Danni and Andy returned to continue the conversations.
A Grey Day
Yesterday morning I abandoned all ideas of any other post than the one I wrote as a tribute to Chris. This is because news of his death reached me as we were on the way to New Milton to collect Alison from the station.
Before then we had been relieved of our unwanted bath by friends of A Lady Tiler, who works with The Lady Plumber. Sam, the plumber, will attend to the pipework next week. The final twist was the discovery that those feet that had been bolted on to the roll top slipper bath had been placed in the wrong order.
After a brief visit we returned Alison to the station and I walked back. I did not take my camera, nor did I reflect on my surroundings. I just thought about my brother, then went home and wrote the post.
Walking along Christchurch Road, the grass verges of which have been cut, I had a wake up call. I faced the oncoming traffic and walked on the grass. That, one would have thought, should be safe. Suddenly, however, from behind, and inches to my left, I felt the gust and heard the roar of a car, far exceeding the 60 mph speed limit, overtaking another from the other side of the road, and veering into the path of a vehicle coming towards it. The car being approached had to brake. The offending one was followed by an equally speedy motorbike. On such a day, this was a message I should heed. I will never walk along that road again.
In the evening we dined at The Crown at Everton.
This morning, showered by intermittent rain, I walked the Hordle Cliff route. Except for one hardy specimen, the cattle in Hordle Manor Farm sheltered in their byre.
For many reasons it was a grey day.
Having been unable last night to download BBC iPlayer, later this morning we had another attempt, and successfully watched episode 3 of New Tricks. I am warming to the new team.
The weather, at least, brightened up a little this afternoon, and Jackie drove us down to Barton on Sea for a brief sojourn.
It is a frighteningly long way down to the beach from the unstable cliff top, even if you are leaning on a protective fence. Gulls, sweeping against crumbling clouds, and crows hugging the cliff, frolicked on the thermals; and young people dabbled with the waves.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chilli con carne (recipe) and wild rice. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Isla Negra.
Christopher Michael Knight 1.10.1943 – 17.10.2014
This is the post I would never have wished to write.
Ever since I was fourteen months old, my brother Chris has been the companion and rival of my childhood, and lifelong friend.
Here we are posing for a studio portrait in the suits Mum made us for the
Victory Street Party in 1945
In 1947 he first broke his leg in the garden of 29a Stanton Road. Our grandmother in Durham dressed us in her pink petticoats before we returned home to
greet our new sister Jacqueline
who was toddling by 1949 when we wore fair aisle jumpers Mum had knitted.
In 1950 we had another holiday in Durham where we sat on our grandparents garden wall,
and again in 1951 where we had a trip to the seaside.
Even Mum doesn’t know where this shot was taken in 1952.
No self respecting budding guitarist in a University band was complete in 1960 without his Hank Marvin specs.
At my wedding to Jackie on 2nd March 1968 neither the groom nor the best man was free of embarrassment when the photographer required us jointly to kiss the bride.
When, in March 2004 Sam completed his epic Atlantic Row in Port St Charles, Barbados, Chris was there, with Frances and Fiona, accompanying Jessica and me on the welcoming yacht. 
Later that year the family celebrated the event with a special dinner. Chris, Frances, and Fiona were there with most of the family.
When Jacqueline celebrated her 60th birthday in Boston, Lincolnshire on 14th April 2007 he was his usual cheerful self.
He was the father of the bride when, in August of that year, Fiona married Paul. No doubt he was pulling my leg when Elizabeth caught us on camera.
Chris and Frances made several trips to Sigoules. Not far from there live his boyhood friend Mike Ozga and his wife Oona. We visited them April 2009, where Elizabeth photographed us.
Naturally he was party to my surprise seventieth birthday celebration in July 2012.
Chris was one of those very rare beings – a truly good man.
He died peacefully this morning after a short illness.
Starting Handles
On this brighter, balmy, day, the returning sunshine was welcomed by all; by me; by Roger’s newly sown fields; by ferns and mare’s tails on the bank of the stream; by basking cattle huddled behind the corner cottage; by a young man, with the customary electronic device, waiting for a bus; by slithering slugs and by creeping caterpillars on the footpath; and by one solitary wave watcher seated on the shingle.
These are the steps Bob runs up and down.
On my return, whist Jackie continued her autumn tidying, I began the daunting task of digging out the more stubborn roots of bramble and ivy from the back drive. Bolt cutters were required for the removal of more of our predecessor’s metal mesh.
As you can see, I didn’t get very far.
Margery and Paul visited us this afternoon, and we enjoyed our usual wide-ranging conversations. Thinking of how times have changed over the last century, we embarked on the subject of early motoring. We travelled back to 1919 when Jackie’s grandfather acquired his first car, and never had to take a test. He would regularly drive himself from Anerley to Brighton when hardly another vehicle was to be seen on the road.
She remembered her Dad cranking up a starting handle to get the car going, and jump into the car hoping the engine would continue running. The dog-legged shaped metal crank was shoved through a hole in front of the motor where its own female end engaged with a male one attached to the starting mechanism. This handle for the Morris Minor most resembles one I remember using to help my Dad get moving. You had to be quite vigorous in your cranking, and hope the equipment didn’t suddenly whizz round and break your wrist.
Later, Jackie and I watched, on BBC iPlayer, episode 2 of the 11th series of New Tricks. It was in the 9th series of 2012 – the last one I watched – that the skilful and watchable Denis Lawson replaced James Bolam as one of the old dogs, (who, according to proverb, cannot be taught new tricks), namely a trio of retired policemen under the management of a female officer played originally by Amanda Redman. Their task is to reopen investigations into unsolved crimes.
As with a number of successful TV series over the years, this comedy-drama began as a one-off – on 27th March 2003. Of the original cast only the everlasting Dennis Waterman remains. Redman has been replaced by Tamzin Outhwaite; and Alun Armstrong by Nicholas Lyndhurst.
Having found the rapport between the original cast members very entertaining, I will need to reserve judgement on the current team. One of the secrets of success of such productions is the chemistry between the actors. In my view this is a little lacking at the moment, but it is worth persevering with.
The supporting cast played their parts well.
Our evening meal consisted of Jackie’s classic sausage casserole (recipe), smooth mashed potato, and crisp carrots and peas, followed by jam sponge and custard. She drank Hoegaarden, whilst I enjoyed Isla Negra Cabernet Sauvignon 2013.
Everything Closed But The Window
On another dull morning I walked the circular route to Hordle Cliff and back. At the bottom of Downton Lane I met the woman whose garden I had photographed on the 3rd. She told me that the salt wind to which her home is exposed makes it impossible to grow much, but she was pleased at my compliments.
Roger has another crow deterrent in his recently sown fields. A noise such as that emitted by a cannon erupts at regular intervals. Had I not become used to it it would certainly startle me.
Jackie has been making delightful weatherproof signs indicating various sections of the garden, such as this one for The Heligan Path.
Before the rain set in I continued the clearance of the back drive.
After a late lunch we drove to Milford on Sea to register with the Milford Medical Centre. Well, when it was very wet outside, and we had existed since 1st April without a GP, it didn’t seem to be a bad idea. Passing The Red Lion pub Jackie wondered what it would be like, so we popped back to find out. It was closed. So we tried The Crown Inn at Everton. That, too, was closed. So we went home.
We have a Velux window in the kitchen roof. When it rains it leaks. This, we have discovered, is because it doesn’t shut properly and is impossible to lock. The recent deluges have made the drips onto the floor rather persistent of attention. I moved the furniture and climbed up on the stepladder to investigate. First it was necessary to brush away lots of black crud, living spiders, and their dead prey. This landed on the table. The locking mechanism could only be operated manually and with great difficulty. I sprayed it with WD40. I then still had to use my fingers to push the levers, but the fast-acting lubricant had made it easier to do so. I could now lock it. But only when it wasn’t shut, which it still won’t do properly.
I gave up, mopped up the floor, and brushed off the table and put it back in position.
This evening a certain perseverance was rewarded. The Red Lion in Milford on Sea had announced that its winter hours meant that it closed at 2.30 on Wednesdays and reopened at 6.00. We decided to return this evening and were rewarded by a friendly atmosphere in an eighteenth century hostelry that served very good food. Had we actually seen a doctor on our earlier trip, I am sure the steak and ale pie; the rack of pork ribs, the plum tart and custard, the chocolate fudge cake, the Peroni, and the Ringwood’s best would have been just what he or she would have ordered. There is also a dentist’s surgery across the road.
Had I Been Wearing A Hat………
On the way down the garden for my circular walk to Hordle Cliff and back I passed 
several naked ladies bearing no hint of goose pimples. These nerines are so called because they appear before their leaves.
Not having Jessica’s confident fungal knowledge I could not identify the mushrooms now growing on the verge of the coast road. I stick to what you can buy in the shops. It’s safer that way.
Visible from the cliff top, a layer of lit cloud contrasted with the streak of blue sky on the horizon. There Bob, having cycled to the spot, was preparing his psyche for running up and down the steps. This tough gentleman, suffering from Parkinson’s disease and having had an operation for a fused back, took this exercise, which I would no longer attempt, because ‘you have to keep going’. Had I been wearing a hat, I would have taken it off to him.
Our sister in law, Frances, had sent me some photographs from her mobile phone, asking me if I could do anything with them. She needn’t have worried. They were excellent shots of a male muntjac deer. And I don’t even know how to use the camera on my Samsung Galaxy. I just lightened them up a bit and also produced some crops. Here are a couple:
The mushroom season is also the time for lunches of Jackie’s soups. Today’s was spinach. Her method is as follows:
For two pints of soup:
Make a roux using 1 1/2 ounces each of butter and flour. Add 1/2 teaspoon of nutmeg.
Keep adding milk until you have a rich creamy sauce. Put to one side.
In another ounce of butter fry a finely chopped onion. Then add a 200g bag of spinach (unless you grow your own) and fry until it reduces down.
Add a pint of chicken stock.
When cooked thoroughly ‘stick it through a blender’. Reheat the roux, gradually add the puree to it and cook a little while longer.
Try it. It is delicious.
This afternoon we continued our work on the back drive. I removed and piled up more cuttings on the November bonfire pile, and Jackie spent time clearing soil from the gravel.
This evening we dined on smoked haddock fish cakes, chips, cauliflower cheese (recipe), carrots and runner beans. I drank Marston’s Premium, exceptional premium Pale Ale, and Jackie finished the chenin blanc.
Is This Orlaigh? 2
After I had walked down to the postbox and back, the rain set in for the day. I amused myself scanning more of my loose negatives, viz. fifteen from the summer of 1982.
That year water pistols were all the rage, and Sam was delighted to be introduced to them by Matthew and Becky in the garden of Gracedale Road. In his photograph Matthew is wearing his P’tang Yang Kipperbang haircut.
Covent Garden Craft Market at that time when the area was in the process of being rejuvenated was the genuine article. 
Stallholders brought their own work for sale and continued creating it on site. Although we no longer lived in Soho, trips up to the vicinity were always popular. It was during the one featured today that I photographed the picture that Alice snaffled.
The iPhoto application on my iMac has a face recognition facility. It automatically picks out a face and invites you to identify it. It does occasionally select something like part of a tree that could resemble a fizz, but on the whole it is remarkably accurate. If it thinks it knows whose is the likeness it asks ‘Is this [a name]?’ and gives the option to put either a tick or a cross in a box. A tick receives an automatic entry. A cross allows you to enter the correct name.
This shot of Sam prompted the question ‘Is this Orlaigh?’.
Orlaigh is, of course, the daughter of Sam and Holly, and hasn’t quite yet reached the age her father was in this picture.
One of the consequences of finally acquiring a dishwasher is that, unless you run it before you have filled it, you need more of everything so that what you need is not in the machine awaiting a wash when you want it. This led us in search of a ten cup cafetiere this afternoon. Despite visiting Lidl, because you never know what you might find in the central aisles, we came home without one.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious sausage casserole (recipe), mashed potato, runner beans, and carrots, followed by ginger sponge and custard. She drank Cimarosa chenin blanc 2014, and I drank more of the rioja.
Crossword Setters’ Pseudonyms
On this dull, humid, morning I trudged my circular route to Milford on Sea and back. As I approached a shiny blue motor car parked on the cliff top I instantly recognised it as a Morgan, a classic that I had only ever before seen in magazines. The owner was happy to vacate his vehicle for a photograph. This model, built in the 1960s, kept faithful to the original 1936 design.
This made me think about my friend Georgie Johnson. Georgie, to whom I am indebted for a number of the ideas for my advanced cryptic crosswords, chose the name Morgan for her setter’s pseudonym. Like me, fascinated by Arthurian legend, she thus paid tribute to Morgan le Fay, the mythical king’s evil sister. It is of course traditional for some compilers to select the nomenclature of an evil character by which to be known. The far more famous Torquemada comes to mind. Some would say that Morgan le Fay was the aunt of Mordred, whose name I had chosen. Georgie and I briefly collaborated as Gander, a linking of the end of her nom de plume followed by the beginning of my Christian name. Not as revered as the aforementioned Inquisitor, Mordred did make it into Jonathon Crowther’s 2006 Collins publication ‘A-Z of Crosswords: Insights into the Top Setters and their Puzzles’ (ISBN 0-00-722923-2). My section tells the rather marvellous tale of the publication of a puzzle in honour of Sam’s epic Atlantic Row. The timing of Mark Goodliffe and Simon Anthony, editors of ‘The Magpie’, was perfect.
Speaking to the owner of the Morgan reminded me of another classic car story. This is told in ‘I Can’t Put A Ticket On That’.
In the Nature Reserve, no doubt following the lead of the supermarkets and garden centres, the hollies were stocking up for Christmas.
It has been our practice in the garden this summer to allow unfamiliar plants to remain in situ until we know what they are. On my return home today, one of these that we had thought 
might be an unknown fern, lay stretched out on the dining table. It was an enormous carrot, so misshapen as never to have reached the supermarket shelves.
Our dinner tonight consisted of pork belly in hoi-sin sauce with savoury rice packed with vegetables and chopped omelette. Ginger sponge and custard was to follow. Jackie drank her customary Hoegaarden, whilst I drank Albai reserva rioja 2010.