March 2016 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

Making The Most Of Milford Seafront

This morning I accompanied Jackie to the GP surgery where she was prescribed antibiotics for what is now a chest infection. Afterwards, she drove us to the car park alongside the

Needles Eye cafe where she sat with a coffee whilst

I ambled along the upper and lower promenades.

The fog warning sounded as I took this hazy picture of the Isle of Wight and The Needles, after which the cafe has been wittily named.

This gentleman was perhaps searching for a sight of the island whilst his bored best friend was suggesting it was a waste of time.

A group of energetic retirees strode out, past the barriers that border the lower promenade where concrete huts once stood.

Should they be taken short, a state of the art Public Convenience ushers in the prospective

rebuilding of the, now removed, damaged beach huts.

Throughout the day, Paul and I continued exchanging material for the forthcoming The First Gallery exhibition and flyer.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s, fish, chips, and pea fritters. Nothing was imbibed.

Consternation And Confusion

Sam has come back to London from Perth to spend ten days decorating his Hackney house with my grandson Oliver. He will return home on Malachi’s birthday, so I was able to give him his son’s birthday present.

Jackie drove me to and from New Milton for me to pay a visit. From Waterloo I travelled by Northern and Victoria lines to Highbury and Islington, then the Overground to Homerton whence I walked down Hasset Road, E9 to number 94.

Whilst, like, continuing to read on my, like, outward train journey, I was, like, entertained by the, like, conversation of a group of like, teenage girls.

The buildings outside Homerton Station were decorated by such colourful graffiti that I took out my camera to photograph it. The battery was flat. My pace slowing, I walked despondently away.

‘Hang on a minute’, I thought. ‘I’ve got a camera on my phone’. By the time I reached the corner of Hasset Road, I had some vague idea about how to use it. Unfortunately not quick enough to catch the young woman and children who walked into the shot.

This East London street has, since the 2012 Olympics, been gradually undergoing steady gentrification. The whole area reflects the extensive post-war rebuilding juxtaposed with the terraced Victorian houses,

one of which belongs tp my son and his wife.

The young men continued their work whilst I sat on a bed and largely conversed through a window with Sam who painted the frames whilst aloft a ladder.

Olli was so amused

at my efforts to photograph Sam at the bathroom window, that he volunteered to do it for me.

For my return to Waterloo, Sam, seeking to simplify my journey, escorted me to the stop for the 26 bus which would take me all the way to the London terminus. This was reasonably straightforward. Except that as the bus I had boarded lumbered off I realised that I had left my book behind. No way can I contemplate a four hour journey with no crisp pages to turn. It was therefore necessary to disembark at the next stop, walk back to Sam’s, and catch a later bus. And except that en route an announcement informed us that the destination of our vehicle had changed. The next message stated that we were going to Waterloo. The bus terminated at Liverpool Street Station. Consternation and confusion were relaxed when we were informed that another 26 was waiting for us. This one went on a diversion at Bank Station. Fortunately , for me the intermediate route was of no interest. Had I wished to visit St Paul’s Cathedral, I may have felt rather differently.

We enjoyed a second helping of yesterday’s paprika pork and savoury rice with which I drank Kingfisher.

My greatest consternation and confusion came afterwards, when I couldn’t upload my photographs onto the iMac, which couldn’t recognise my Samsung, which in turn informed me that I should download kies. After struggling with this for a while I sought Becky’s advice on the telephone. We couldn’t solve the problem and I tried my laptop, where, eventually I was successful.

Orange Symphony

Kimber’s carpet fitters made an excellent job this morning of installing our new stairs and landing carpet.

Much of the day was spent exchanging e-mails with partners in two different joint projects. One thread was with Paul, who is finalising the flyer for the exhibition at The First Gallery.

Here are a few further suggestions of prints on to be on show. Just for fun I have chosen an orange theme.

This was the gentle overture to 6th April 2015.

This bee burrowed into a crumpled poppy on 23rd September the same year,

and the following day Mamma Mia became bejewelled.

Could this be the same bee on the kniphofia on 28th?

The second exchange of e-mails must remain secret at the moment. It concerns my draft of a post brought about by collaboration with a man I have never met. I await his approval of the text.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s perky paprika pork and exquisite egg fried rice. She drank water and I finished the merlot.

Walking To Bridgetown

On this drizzly day, Jackie did a great deal of planting and composting. We then carried off to the dump two more bags of the griselinia cuttings that Aaron and Robin had filled for us on Sunday. We only came back with a hoe.

After completing the scanning of the March 2004 colour slides of Barbados, i discovered some negative film I used when walking around the island before Sam arrived. The first dozen of these are of a ten mile walk from our first hotel at the southern tip to the capital, Bridgetown. It was a bit hot, and this was when I earned the epithet ‘the white man who walks’.

This street scene shows the sign for a roadside bar; a well cared-for church, and typical chattel houses,

one with some kind of lean-to constructed of weathered corrugated iron, which was a common roofing material.

The gardens of some of these houses contained car wrecks.

Other owners preferred shrubs,

such as this bougainvillea trained around a porch behind a little picket fence.

Chickens, some having been instructed in the art of deportment, strutted around with the apparent freedom of a New Forest pony.

Coconuts

and breadfruit hung over the road which lacked a footpath,

and along which rampant buses tore. There were not many stops, but local people kept telling me I should use one.

The children who emerged from these simply constructed homes were clad in crisp, clean, uniforms and certainly were not ‘creeping like snail, unwillingly to school’ (William Shakespeare).

This evening we dined on Tesco’s fluffy fish pie; cauliflower, mushrooms, tomatoes, and peas. Jackie drank lemon squash, and I drank merlot. Jackie is still carrying a cough from the virus, although I am not.

I Didn’t Have The Energy

Once the overnight ice had melted on the pools, the day remained bright and sunny, albeit a bit chilly.

By late morning, perhaps drawn by the sunlight reflected off one of the white tiles left as markers by The Head Gardener when she planted crocuses in the cryptomeria Japonica bed last autumn, even a dozy fly had been tempted out of hibernation.

The prunus pissardi is now in full bloom;

and springing into life are such as the Weeping Birch Bed,

from which wood anemones cast their shadows onto the Heligan Path.

This afternoon Jackie drove me to O2 in Christchurch to sort out the billing problem. Despite yawning every few minutes, the young man who attended to me was very helpful. He rang the relevant department and handed me his phone to speak to a young lady. Then the fun started. What eventually emerged was that the direct debit that I had signed on 27th February had expired three days later. Don’t ask. I didn’t. This meant there was none in existence. I could start one now, over the phone, but would have to ring them again on 12th to pay my first month’s account. I indicated my displeasure at having to make another call to do this. I was given the option of doing so there and then. Having received confirmation that I had been credited with £10 compensation, I settled the balance in advance. I didn’t have the energy to continue the argument.

After this, Jackie drove us into the forest beyond Brockenhurst, where we turned round and sped for home in time to be there for Aaron who had come in for a short time to put finishing touches to the hall painting before the stair carpet is laid on Wednesday.

On either side of the newly surfaced road through the moors. If they want to cross it they just do.

rounded, healthy, ponies gorged on green grass.

One was totally unconcerned by the clouds of smoke billowing behind it.

This evening we dined on Tesco’s chicken breast fillets with bacon, leeks, and cheese; and Jackie’s mashed potato, fried onions, and boiled cauliflower. I drank a very good Chilean merlot given to me by Ian last night. Jackie drank sparkling water.

Who Is Lorna? Where Is She?

For those of you are new to this particular series, The Streets of London, are some 1,000 + colour slides of London which must contain the Street Name, and were all taken on walks through our capital.

Today I scanned another dozen, from May 2004.

This statue of Queen Victoria stands outside the Royal Courts of Justice in the Strand, WC2.

Milford Lane, WC2 runs from the other side of that road down towards the Embankment. On a Friday, in the Edinburgh Restaurant on this corner, you can fortify yourself with Pie and Mash after having secured a mortgage.

Popular in the capital since the 19th century, genuine eel, pie, and mash shops are now in short supply. Wikipedia describes the delicacy thus:

‘a minced beef and cold water pastry pie served with mashed potato. There should be two types of pastry used, the bottom or base should be suet pastry and the top short. It is common for the mashed potato to be spread around one side of the plate and for a type of parsley sauce to be present. This is commonly called eel liquor sauce or simply liquor(although it is non-alcoholic), traditionally made using the water kept from the preparation of the stewed eels. However, many shops no longer use stewed eel water in their parsley liquor. The sauce traditionally has a green colour, from the parsley. Sometimes a gravy is served instead (normally Oxo or Bisto).’

One of the many attractions in the famous Trafalgar Square W1, here seen at its junction with Pall Mall East, are pavement artists. Here one engages the attention of spectators and photographers alike.

Thomas Goode is an upmarket tableware shop in Mayfair’s South Street W1. in my view one of its finest treasures is the terra cotta panels decorating its facade.

Jackie has enlarged these panels and revealed that the one on the right is labelled ‘the potter’, and its companion depicts the pot being painted.

More terra cotta tiling adorns the front of this building in Green Street W1, where a woman enjoys a snack, perhaps purchased from within. The foreground vehicle obscures her table.

A common sight in the West End is a blanketed beggar with his dog. This one sits in a side street off Oxford Street W1.

Continuing on to W2 we come to the elegant Delamere Terrace, alongside the canal of Little Venice. The narrow boats are sited on residential moorings. My counselling room stood on the opposite side of the water.

Chichester Road W2 is a turning off Delamere Terrace. This block of flats displays the uses to which people put their balconies, and a collection of TV satellite dishes. You can’t even park outside your own home without feeding a meter.

Further west along the canal lies Lord Hills Road W2. This bridge is one of the replacements that are gradually being constructed, replacing steps with winding approaches for wheelchair users.

Basing Street W11 takes us away from the City of Westminster to the neighbouring Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea. There was posted a message from someone desperately seeking Lorna. Now there’s a story.

Someone has decorated the walls of St Luke’s Mews W11 with a rather compelling mural.

Whilst drafting this post I watched Andy Murray’s thrilling Davis Cup tennis match with Kei Nishikori.

This Mother’s Day evening we dined with Becky and Ian at The Beach House in Milford on Sea. Given that this was a surprise and we weren’t feeling 100% I had to be a bit devious to explain why it was necessary to make ourselves presentable and go out. In the event we had a very enjoyable evening. My starter was fish cakes in a chili sauce; my main course a seafood platter; and my dessert Eton mess. I shared a bottle of montepulciano with Becky, whilst Jackie and Ian both drank Peroni.

What Other Municipal Dump……?

I know my mobile phone is working now, because O2 and Carphone Warehouse continue to send me texts and e-mails containing special offers, and reviews about their service. Some people are gluttons for punishment.

This was another day of sunshine and showers.

The daffodils I photographed yesterday were all in close-up. This is the general effect they give across the garden. Through the arch in the centre, installed by The Head Gardener a month or two ago, can be seen a couple of the camellias.

We weren’t expecting these Diamond Jubilee tulips, planted last year, to have such short legs.

In the front garden, Jackie has erected a little arbour in which to take a rest. This has tiered pots of flowers. These daffodils must cause some confusion to passing drivers. Naturally there are a couple of owls occupying the fence, one a little further along.

Last weekend, when we were away, Aaron and Robin had filled two more of the canvas bags with tree cuttings. This afternoon, we felt well enough to take these to the Efford Recycling Centre. Two trips were enough for us.

As we have often wondered, what other municipal dump, would offer such views on the approach and beyond the containers?

This evening we dined on the remains of yesterday’s pasta bake, supplemented by fried bacon and mushrooms, and La Doria tinned ratatouille, kept for such emergencies. Dessert was Tesco’s zesty lemon tart. Water was imbibed

Indisposed

Today we had planned to drive over to The First Gallery in order to finalise the flyers and further plan the coming exhibition. Indisposition intervened. First Jackie, then Margery, then I succumbed to viruses, so the meeting must be postponed.

We had a floppy day during which I continued reading Jonathan Dimbleby’s ‘The Battle of The Atlantic,

and ventured briefly into the garden to photograph a few of the varieties of narcissus that now frolic there.

Very soon after I took these sun-soaked photographs,

the skies darkened, and hailstones, tinkling against the windows like that through which I took this shot, provided a garden tablecloth and chair covers.

This evening we dined on Tesco’s carbonara pasta. Neither of us drank anything.

On The Move

Jackie drove me to New Milton For me to catch the train to Waterloo for a lunch date with Norman. The train was 16 minutes late, and the station toilet out of order. The reason for the delay was ‘a line-side fire’. Such was my discomfort that I felt inclined to offer to help extinguish it.

The arrival into Waterloo added five more minutes to the delay, which meant that decanted passengers fairly sped along the platform.

These barriers must be negotiated by passengers wishing to enter or leave the Underground. This is effected by inserting a ticket which may or may not be returned to you. Sometimes they don’t work. This tends to leave customers rather less than gruntled.

Outside, in Waterloo Road, buses tried their luck with other road users.

Underneath the station a gentleman found enough seclusion to employ his mobile phone.

The woman in the centre of this shot was in such a hurry that she had trouble keeping her feet on the ground. (You may wish to enlarge this one).

In the barriers around the building works opposite these people waiting for the traffic lights to allow them to cross, can be seen viewing windows.

Peering through one revealed this scene, complete with statutory fag sticking to lips.

Across the road, on the paving alongside Emma Cons Gardens, this photographer’s subject was not what it would seem. She was examining the picture she hd just taken of The Old Vic opposite.

On the corner behind the young lady, a gentleman later gave a literal meaning to the expression ‘nose in the trough’.

This mirror-writing version of the Young Vic posters in The Cut was the result of focussing on a window opposite.

A little further along this thoroughfare a cyclist was attending to his steed outside Evans, which is a long-standing supplier of various types.

I normally spend some time over my street shots, but today, because of the transport delays, I was very much on the move, as were most of my subjects.

Norman and I enjoyed a tasty meal at Tas, the Anatolian restaurant in The Cut. My choice was mixed seafood casserole followed by baklava. We shared a bottle of the house red wine.

Jackie collected me at Brockenhurst on my return journey, and drove me home.

I received a text from O2 telling me that my direct debit could not be implemented and asking me to ring my bank who would explain what the problem was. I did so. The bank staff informed me that with a new direct debit the reference number would be changed and that only O2 could implement the debit. The O2 text gave me a number to ring once I had learned the problem. That number was, of course, a machine, giving me only two options, one of which was irrelevant, and the other requiring me to type in my bank details. Just that ‘your bank details’. This message was repeated. I couldn’t get off it, so I politely stated, into the void, ‘I AM NOT PREPARED TO DO THAT’. I then tried the chat line and got referred back to the text. I said I’d visit an O2 outlet at my own convenience, which might take a while.

The usual survey form ensued.

After my splendid lunch I had no need for further sustenance this evening.

Roofing Port St Charles

This afternoon I scanned the last of the colour slides from our Barbados trip of March 2004.

I cannot identify the owner of the avian eye apparently fixed on me from the Port St Charles shrubbery, whilst mine were observing a team of roofers putting finishing touches to the luxury apartments of this rich person’s playground.

They certainly needed their varied headwear which presumably offered some kind of protection from the strong, hazy, sun, scorchingly hot despite the occasional clouds.

These are the last of the slides, but we have not seen the last of the island, because I have found some negatives from the beginning of the trip, when we were waiting for Sam’s arrival.

This being the 48th anniversary of our original wedding, we celebrated with a meal out at The Smugglers Inn at Milford on Sea. My choice was excellent chicken and vegetable pie with chips and more veg., followed by the softest bread and butter pudding and custard that I have ever tasted. Jackie chose lemon chicken supreme, with superb chocolate fudge cake and ice cream. Our drinks were Doom Bar and Peroni respectively.

The service was most friendly, and we were early enough to make our escape whilst the quiz night was being set up and the contestants filling up all the tables around us.

Pub food has undergone a considerable transformation since 1968.

P.S. arlingwoman, in her comment below, has identified the pigeon. Thanks to her.