September 2017 – Page 2 – derrickjknight

“An Artist In My Greenhouse”

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This week we have enjoyed three fine days. Tomorrow with also be fine. Today it drizzled most of the time. This, however, did not phase John Jones, an artist friend who had planned to depict the garden and was duly delivered by Paul Clarke this morning.

John happily became ensconced in the greenhouse where he drew until lunchtime. He didn’t seem to mind the cockerel following progress.

Jackie laid on a splendid lunch of cauliflower and stilton soup, crusty bread, cold meats salad, and cheese and biscuits.

Afterwards John applied watercolour.

Remembering what I was always prone to do when painting, I instructed the painter not to dip his brush in his tea.

“How exciting!” observed Jackie. “An artist in my greenhouse”.

Despite his difficult vantage point, John managed to produce excellent compositions in pencil,

and in watercolour.

As, early this evening, we drove John to New Milton to catch the train to his home in Southampton, the rain had stopped and,

especially across Christchurch Bay, the sun blazed in the sky.

Walkers strode along the cliff path at Milford on Sea.

The Isle of Wight was in clear view.

It seemed as if the crumbling edge is further approaching the pedestrian thoroughfare.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, pickled onions and gherkins. I finished the Cairanne.

P.S. Note Jackie’s reply to paolsoren in comments for the soup recipe

The Red Lion’s Replacement

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I believe I could be forgiven for thinking that we had dug out all the buried concrete blocks from the garden. Jackie, on continuing with her splendid end of summer planting, weeding, and tidying, discovered that this was not so. In particular she is redesigning the area between the greenhouse and the Dragon Bed. This is where she came across one. I rendered a modicum of assistance in its removal.

Also extracted was a large clump of ornamental grass from which we removed stubborn lumps of earth which Jackie returned to the hole whilst I carted the unwanted plant to an orange bag of garden refuse.

I then scanned the next dozen of my Streets of London series of colour slides, produced from November 2004 to April 2005

We learn from https://www.greeneking-pubs.co.uk/pub/audley-mayfair/c3003/ that ‘The Audley was established in 1730 as The Bricklayers Arms and was rebuilt in 1888 on the instructions of the Duke of Westminster, who oversaw the redevelopment and transformation of Mount Street. The Duke allowed the landlord to retain the license for the establishment but they had to change the name to the more courteous ‘Audley Hotel’.

Thomas Verity was chosen as the architect for the development, he was the architect for the Criterion Theatre and the Pavilion at Lord’s Cricket Ground. The Audley’s superb striped façade and decorative wrought ironwork was completed in 1889. Many characteristics of Thomas Verity’s original design are still present today, including some late-Victorian woodwork and a clock situated in the main bar.

Original crystal chandeliers and its ornate interior give it a sense of old-world greatness that is in keeping with its prestigious location. At The Audley you’ll find a welcoming atmosphere, an excellent range of cask ales and delicious food.’

It stands on the corner of Mount Street and

South Audley Street W1. One of Mayfair’s major shopping streets it runs north to south from the southwest corner of Grosvenor Square to

Curzon Street seen here sharing a corner with Clarges Street. Tesco’s Metro, housed in this building is one of that supermarket’s chain of small outlets largely designed for young people who are wealthy and busy enough not to do their own cooking. Ready prepared microwaveable meals and snacks are their speciality.

Hill Street, Wikipedia tells us ‘is a street in the central Mayfair district of London which runs southwest from Berkeley Square towards Park Lane. It was developed from farmland in the 18th century^[3] and was named after a small hill there. It became a fashionable street in the 18th century and was home to a number of lords. The street contains several Grade I and Grade II listed buildings.’

The side of this pictured building stands on Waverton Street, in late 2004 the home of The Red Lion pub. Since I passed this way the pub has been demolished and been replaced by a residential property http://wetherell.co.uk/wetherell-blog/red-lion-house-waverton-street/ informs us is valued at £25,000,000 (yes, six noughts).

‘A former Public House, [we are told] Red Lion House was recently featured in The Mail Online. With interior design by Bill Bennette, this beautiful newly built virtually detached house covers seven floors and boasts fantastic entertaining space, a swimming pool, cinema, two roof terraces and a master bedroom suite that occupies the entire first floor.

The elegant reception room on the ground floor opens onto to a 216 sq ft patio and the reception room on the lower ground floor leads on to an exquisite double height dining room and bespoke marble kitchen.

Three guest bedroom suites are situated on the second floor whilst the master suite with dressing areas, morning room and his & her bathrooms occupies the entire first floor.

The lower part of the house offers a swimming pool complex with steam room, gym with shower room and a media room. There is also a maid’s bedroom with shower room on the ground floor with its own side entrance to the house.’

Wetherell’s site includes a great number of photographs. Readers may, or may not, think this is an improvement.

Hill Street meets Farm Street at another corner. http://www.jesuit.org.uk/church-immaculate-conception tells us that ‘The Jesuit Church of the Immaculate Conception – familiarly known as Farm Street Church – is situated in the Mayfair area of central London. From 1849 (when it was opened) until 1966, it was simply a Jesuit church, open to the public but not the centre of worship for a parish. Its reputation rested on the pulpit and the confessionals and it became famous for the preaching and spiritual guidance of the Jesuit community. Since 1966, the church has been at the heart of a parish in the centre of Mayfair in the Archdiocese of Westminster. Its Jesuit community of priests and brothers are either attached specifically to the church, work in other apostolates or are retired. The parish attracts its congregation not only from all over London and the surrounding area but also visitors from all over the world. The church remains a haven of peace and beauty in a very busy part of the capital.’

‘The Coach and Horses is one of the best-known British pub names. In London alone there are still over fifty Coach and Horses pubs. For many centuries, prior to the invention of the railway systems, horse drawn carriages were the only means of travelling between towns and cities. Most famously in London, hackney carriages became an essential part of life. These consisted of a horse and carriage and licensed for hire since 1662, their job was to whisk city folk about their business both day and night before they were succeeded by the Hansom Cab. The Hansom cab was a variant of horse-drawn carriage designed and patented in 1834 by York born architect Joseph Hansom.’ So says https://www.greeneking-pubs.co.uk/pub/coach-and-horses-mayfair/s5155/

This one is actually in Bruton Street, on the corner of Hay’s Mews.

Splendidly elegant railings protect the staircase down to the basement of this property in Charles Street, once the home of

https://www.londonremembers.com/memorials/spirit-of-soho-mural tells us that ‘The Spirit of Soho mural [in Broadwick Street] was created by the Soho community and completed in 1991. It shows Soho life and is dedicated to the people of Soho. The mural depicts St Anne presiding over local notables; her skirt and petticoats show the map of Soho, craftsmen and London landmarks. Framed underneath are the portraits of Soho’s many famous figures. Dogs and hares are interspersed which represent a time when Soho was a Royal hunting ground.

Restored in 2006 by Shaftesbury PLC and The Soho Society, the clock was re-activated by The Lord Mayor of Westminster 19th October 2006. Don’t miss: When the clock strikes on the hour: watch actress and opera singer Theresa Cornelys winks at Casanova, Casanova blows a series of kisses to Cornelys and Karl Marx takes a sip of Coca Cola.’

The Kingly Court Showroom at No 1 Kingly Street is in the fashionable Carnaby area parallel with Regent Street.

Kingly Street forms a T junction with Beak Street which according to Wikipedia

‘is named after Thomas Beake, later one of the Queen’s messengers, who, in the late 17th century, obtained the land on the north side, between Regent and Kingly streets. The name Beak Street first appeared in the ratebooks for 1689, and in 1691 it was ordered that the street be paved with stone.

^‘St Christopher’s Place, W1, a short popular pedestrianised shopping street between Oxford Street and Wigmore Street, was decorated with wrapped gift parcels on my visit.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb sausages in red wine; crisp cauliflower and carrots; and creamy mashed potato. I drank Louis Chamandiet Cairanne 2015.

What Would You Have Seen?

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I don’t really remember dreams much, but last night I relived my childhood when everything became smaller as I grew older. In particular, walls I couldn’t scramble up to walk along suddenly became manageable. Was this anything to do with the fact that Jackie needs the work surfaces in the new kitchen to be higher than standard? Especially as I was also working out how to pay for the project?

This morning we travelled by car to Kitchen Makers, discussed the fine details, and paid a deposit for work to commence after Christmas. We then drove on to Hockey’s Farm Shop to buy pork sausages and their splendid Pig ‘n’ Pickles Piccalilli. The sausages were essential because we were to dine on Jackie’s sausage casserole this evening and she had bought vegetarian sausages by mistake. We just had to have some meat ones to go with them.

Holmsley Passage sweeps down

across the moors from the A35 leaving Lyndhurst. I left the road at the top of the slope pictured above, and made my way

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=marSWLjaQNw&w=560&h=315]

tripping through the heather, bracken and gorse to the lowest point where Jackie waited to take us onwards. I will let these eloquent landscapes tell their own story.

Mine comes later.

Changeable clouds constantly shifted overhead.

At Hockey’s, where we lunched, alpacas, donkeys, sheep, and horses are near neighbours.

Ducks and geese roam in large pens,

from where they have access to a small pool, today occupied by Khaki Campbell ducks. The pale blue bills of some of these caught my attention.

According to Wikipedia

‘The Khaki Campbell (Anas platyrhynchos domesticus^[1] or Anas platyrhynchos Linnaeus^[2]) is a breed of domesticated duck that originated in England and is kept for its high level of egg production. The breed was developed by Mrs. Adel Campbell ^[3] of Uley, Gloucestershire, England at the turn of the 20th century. The “Campbell Duck” being introduced in 1898 ^[4] and the ‘Khaki’ variety introduced to the public in 1901.^[5]

Adult Campbell ducks weigh approximately 3-5 pounds. Campbells can come in three color varieties: khaki, dark and white. They are a cross between Mallard, Rouen and Runner ducks. The Khaki Campbell drake is mostly khaki colored with a darker head usually olive green lacking the white ring of its Mallard ancestors. The Khaki Campbell duck has a more modest plumage of Khaki covering the entirety of the body. Despite popular misconceptions of skittish or flightly behavior Campbells are a very gentle, passive and friendly breed when raised by hand until maturity. They are a good breed for young families and children to raise.

The egg production of the Campbell breed can exceed even the most efficient of egg laying domestic chickens, with the breed laying an average of 300 eggs a year. When provided a moderate “duck conscious” environment to live in they will lay a more than modest number of eggs per week.

Khaki Campbells become mature at approximately 7 months. Khaki Campbell ducks seldom hatch out others’ young; however, in very communal situations do hatch large broods together. Most brooding behavior has been sacrificed in exchange for prolific egg laying ability in this breed. The ducks, when raised by hand, are not usually defensive of their eggs or nests, making collection of eggs very easy. Mechanical incubators or broody chickens are used to hatch out Khaki Campbell ducklings when ducks are not present in the process. Incubation takes approximately 23 to 28 days for a Khaki Campbell duckling to hatch and eggs need to be inspected for ducklings that have not emerged from their egg completely.’

Pumpkins were on sale at the shop.

Roger Penny way stretches for 7 miles between Godshill and Cadnam. For the New Forest it is a comparatively straight, wide, road on which you are permitted to drive at 40 m.p.h. Even if you are adhering to this limit, which many people do not, contact with an animal would do neither creature nor vehicle much good.

Having seen the second Hit and Run notice concerning a dead donkey in under a week, we passed this self evident sign just outside The Fighting Cocks inn. There are warning signs at regular intervals along this unlit thoroughfare.

Not much further along the road we encountered a black cow. Imagine this in the dark.

With a theme gestating in my brain, we spotted, on the brow of a hill, blending nicely with a tree on the verge, a black and grey dappled pony. Had this creature, facing us, not lifted its head, we would not have seen it. This was the very subject I had been looking for. There was nowhere to stop or turn at this point, and, anyway, we had a convoy. Thinking we had probably missed the moment, my driver found a spot at which to turn around, came back to the spot, and stopped a little further on on the opposite verge.

As I approached my prey I noticed that it now had companions.

Suddenly a black one stepped out onto the road.

The dappled grey followed.

The most visible of all was not to be left behind.

As is evident, these animals were in no hurry. Now, imagine it is after sunset. What would you have seen?

The animals have no road sense, and will step out at any moment. Not always in clear sunlight giving bright colours a glow. This last pony emerged from the trees to join the others.

From the first photograph of the three – or was it four? – among the trees, to the colourful chestnut, the time elapsed was no more that a minute.

With this evening’s superb casserole Jackie produced crunchy carrots and cabbage with creamy mash. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the madiran.

Meal Of The Day

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Susan Rushton’s post earlier today featured colchicums. There are a number of different varieties of these autumn crocuses.

Ours are different, and a bit battered by wind and rain. I think they are speciosum. Here they are Susan.

Whilst on my way to obtain the first two images above, I spotting a spider waiting on its web. As I watched it hauled itself up aloft and I just left it to get on with it.

Later, I walked the same way to capture the flowers in a different light.

The spider was gloating over its meal of the day. That was one bee that would seek no more pollen.

It is, of course, the season for these insectile predators. I couldn’t even photograph these snapdragons without one poking its nose in.

The antirrhinums appear to the right of this view through the arch framing the Oval Bed.

The kniphofia to the left is one of many in the Weeping Birch Bed

blending with the begonia in a hanging basket behind.

We still have many thriving fuchsias

including one festooning the New Bed.

This afternoon I finished reading ‘Phineas Finn’, the second of Anthony Trollope’s six Palliser novels. This follows the fortunes of the eponymous hero as he ventures into the Victorian Parliamentary world. Without giving away any of the story I can say that, against the background of conflict over reform bills in the 1860s, we have love triangles; fraught courtships; political and matrimonial intrigue; and a view of social history of a time when Members of Parliament needed independent incomes in order to fund their campaigns and carry out their duties if elected; and when women were dependent upon submission to their husbands.

Trollope’s lengthy work is rendered readable by his elegant, flowing, prose, which may not suit some of today’s readers requiring shorter, more racy works.

The author is clearly in sympathy with the status of women, especially those trapped in unhappy marriages. Perhaps that is why, as stated by J. Enoch Powell – himself a controversial politician active a century after the period of the book – the female characters have rather more depth of study than do the males.

Powell’s introduction is sound, and he was aptly chosen by the Folio Society whose 1989 edition I was reading.

In my review of ‘Can You Forgive Her?’, I expressed my disappointment in the illustrations of Llewellyn Thomas. I am no less enamoured of those he has made for the current volume, so I won’t reproduce any.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla in Lymington. My main meal was Goan lamb, while Jackie’s was Chicken shashlik. We shared special fried rice, a paratha, and onion bhaji; and both drank Kingfisher and the customary complimentary Bailey’s.

Aaron Knows The Score

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We have experienced an intermittently leaky kitchen extension roof since we arrived here. The amount of infiltration has depended upon the wind direction rather than the quantity of precipitation. One person has already allegedly repaired it – not very effectively.

Sid, a very personable extra pair of hands, has joined Aaron in AP Maintenance. Today he mixed up cement and mended the roof properly.

Aaron pruned a straggly climbing rose, and cleared more of the West Bed including stripping dead and intrusive growth from another palm, and sawing off an exposed tree stump we hadn’t known was there. When I told him that Sid had spotted a cracked tile and asked if we had any more, and I had replied that we had, but I would need to ask Jackie where they were, Aaron gave her yet another title. “The Maintenance Department”, said our friend, who knows the score.

Just to show willing, I assisted The Head Gardener in her general maintenance tasks this afternoon by occupying myself dead-heading.

This is, of course, the season for showy dahlias

bright, bushy, chrysanthemums,

and snaking nasturtiums;

but I am surprised to see honeysuckle rising again in both back and front gardens.

Geraniums

and begonias cling on to life;

and fuchsias like Mrs Popple dangle away.

We have some multicoloured Rudbeckia;

the aptly named salvia Hot Lips;

and long-lived cosmoses.

The apparently everlasting For Your Eyes Only keeps company in the Rose Garden with

fresh flushes of Love Knot,

Laura Ford,

and Mamma Mia.

The Small White butterflies are still enjoying the verbena bonarensis,

and bees still gather pollen provided by such as this clematis.

This evening we returned to the Turfcutter’s Arms

for a roast pork dinner. Jackie drank Peroni and enjoyed a chocolate sponge dessert with ice cream; my choices were Ringwood’s Best and fruit crumble with custard.

Pumpkin Head

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Today I was mostly engaged in boring administration; correspondence in writing and in e-mail; filing; form-filling; and posting.

Rapid rooftop rattling hailed a brief interlude with my camera, as ricocheting crystals created springboards of chairs, tables, paving, and anything else less receptive than soggy soil.

Early this afternoon we drove out to the Turfcutter’s Arms at East Boldre for a pre-dinner drink. In this we were to be disappointed, but every cloud has a silver lining.

Beginning with the building near the corner of Hordle Lane, we engaged in an exploration of September skies. The blue, white, and indigo palette was to change over the next hour.

The skyscape over Lymington River introduced an ochre tinge,

retained at Tanner’s Lane where the Isle of Wight stood out in clear relief,

as did ferries en route to Lymington.

Looking east, Southampton, with its Spinnaker tower was beautifully lit.

Indigo was the dominant hue to the west;

in between the shoreline led through the Solent to the Isle of Wight.

On across the moors towards East Boldre the hues continued to shift with the swirling clouds.

We soon reach our goal.

We had forgotten it was Saturday. When you are retired there is no such thing as a weekend. It was initially clear that the pub was extremely popular, packed out, and with no available seating. Almost immediately, nothing was clear except the glowing pumpkin head in the fireplace. The electricity was down. Although it soon rose again, we decided to call it a day and return home.

It was not yet sunset when we approached Hatchet Pond,

where a pair of, as far as I could make out. coots paddled across the reflected skies.

Sunset was not far off.

This evening we dined on succulent chicken Kiev, Jackie’s moist ratatouille, crisp roast potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, and green beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Madiran.

Not A Dog’s Dinner

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After a boring morning’s admin, I helped The Head Gardener plant tulip and allium bulbs and flowering chrysanthemums. We then enjoyed a salad lunch and drove to

Lymington harbour,

where the rippling water reflected the boats and the blue sky with its attendant clouds

that had been depicted on the canvas above by a skilled painter.

Rowing boats were moored beside the jetty on the seaward side of which yachts were being berthed.

Squawking gulls landed hoping for titbits.

Other craft were coming and going all the time.

Emerging from the forest of masts, a small ferry boat chugged into harbour,

its master steered it to its mooring,

and the passengers disembarked.

The mother of one family returning to land told me that, on this afternoon of sunshine and showers, they had sailed through heavy rain, so it was only now that the junior pirate had been able to wear his Puffin hat.

Once she had fixed the trophy in place, he trotted off clutching his mother’s hand, while his Dad carried his sibling and everything else.

Walking into the first shot of the ferry boat is another photographer, who, when I showed him my portrait of him, smiled and said: “That’s what photography is for”.

Soon a working boat came into view and came to rest at the fishermen’s corner.

I wasn’t sure what was going on here, but a small terrier’s nose gave her a pretty good idea.

She needed some restraint to keep her away from

the slowly jerking crabs piled on top of each other in strong boxes.

One of these living creatures climbed over the lip of its container and landed on its back on the quayside. In my childhood I had often righted stag beetles in the same predicament, but I didn’t fancy providing a helping hand on this occasion.

Instead, I alerted the young man who had brought in his boat, mentioning that I wasn’t going to pick it up. Describing the crab as an escapee, he demonstrated that it couldn’t pinch because their claws were nipped when they were caught. This certainly wasn’t a dog’s dinner.

Before leaving, I walked along Quay Street

to the bottom of Quay Hill, feeling quite pleased that the car was parked by the waterside, so I wouldn’t have to follow the others scaling the heights. The little dog somewhat impeding the older woman’s progress was happy to continue once the younger woman carrying an infant had torn herself away from the shop windows.

On we travelled to the east of the forest. These ponies on the land along Thorneywood Road were soon to be spooked by a vehicle that turned round the bend towards us. This sent the animals running around in rather frantic circles.

Many others were grazing among the gorse. As so often, one smaller variety incongruously tagged onto the big boys.

Gwen and Yvonne may prefer to skip what follows.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s excellent liver and bacon casserole, mashed potato, carrots and green beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserve des Tuguets Madiran 2014.

Lunch On The Green

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This morning was spent helping the garden recover from the battering winds. This involved gathering up broken branches; tying up plants, like the rose Summer Wine, that had come adrift; a certain amount of watering; and preparing ground for chrysanthemums and bulbs.

After lunch we deposited another orange bag of cuttings in the recycling centre, and drove along the coast road to Milton on Sea.

When the sun emerged from the rapidly moving clouds The Isle of Wight and The Needles benefited from a bright clear light.

Waves still rolled thunderously onto the rocks at the water’s edge.

The clifftop had experienced more erosion since my last venture up there a few months ago.

The bricks in the foreground of this image once formed part of a long-gone structure,

and the path shown here was set further away from the edge last year.

We may have finished our lunch, but a gentleman seated on a bench, mirrored by another eating a banana in his cab,

was still enjoying his.

On the village green a group of elderly cyclists tucked into their own snacks.

I am occasionally asked about the safety of the free roaming animals. Continuing to the north of the forest we noticed this hit and run sign beside Roger Penny Way – not that unusual a phenomenon, particularly during the tourist season.

Were I ever to take it into my head to climb a tree again, I might choose this one bearing useful bracket fungus

at the side of a somewhat waterlogged lane through farmland just to the north of Cadnam,

where sheep wandered across the road.

Initially inquisitive, these creatures, when I invaded too much of their space, turned tail and made for the field from which they had wandered.

We were soon aware of a golf course on our left. A putting session was in progress.

On our return home, I photographed the Hordle Lane housing development from the rear.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious liver casserole, mashed potato, green beans, and orange carrots. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Fleurie.

Beside The Breakwater

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This morning I pulled up a chair for Eric Gill, with whom I was soon to part company.

When, four days ago, we visited All Saints’ Church at Bransgore, I knew that I would present the parish with my Folio Society facsimile copy of the Golden Cockerel Press edition of The Four Gospels, designed and illustrated by Eric Gill. The original was published in 1931. The Folio facsimile, from 2007, comes with a companion volume of essays by John Dreyfus and Robert Gibbings. The reason for the chair is that the work is too large to fit into my scanner, so I had to use a camera to record the book. Gold leaf is applied to the cover, the spine, and the edges of the pages.

A church that houses Gill’s original stone carvings is surely a suitable home for this book, containing his bold illustrations and superb lettering. Enlarging these illustrations will show the texture of the paper.

Each of the four evangelists is introduced by his own page.

All is contained in a strong box bearing the craftsman’s trademark elegantly simple calligraphy.

In order for me to present the book Jackie drove me to the home of Ingrid Tomkins who had shown us round the church. She explained that it would be kept in a safe place to which interested visitors would be given access.

Afterwards, Jackie and I took a trip into the forest. We drove through the moors towards Burley. Ponies could be seen across the landscape, also bearing the embers of controlled burning of gorse;

and beside the roads stretching into the distance.

One cyclist preferred to push his bike up the hill.

Most of these roads have a limit of 40 m.p.h., reducing to 30 on the approach to villages. Even at 30 m.p.h. collision with a pony could be fatal.

The tourist season is not yet over for Forest Leisure Cycling in Burley,

where a quintet of grunting, snorting, snuffling, scampering young Gloucester Old Spot sows informed us that this year’s pannage had begun. They scratched backs, flanks, and bums against the bollards and street sign as they fell over each to enter Burley Lawn.

Their elegant turns of leg belied their ungainly appearance as they raced to the next possible source of food

upon which, like seething maggots, they all seized at once.

We travelled along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive

where the bracken is browning

and fallen needles carpeting their tree roots.

During the hundred or so metres along the forest verge I ventured, I counted upwards of a dozen discarded drink containers and other detritus;

and lobbed into an otherwise picturesque stream

were more than that number of Carling Special Brew cans.

From here we continued to Kitchen Makers at Sway where Ann took us through two different proposals, both of which look exciting, but one of which is probably ruled out by the shallowness of our drainage system. We are to consider these two options. I told Ann that we have very good reports of her firm from Geoff Le Pard, whose mother had used them twice. Ann had fond memories of Mrs. Le Pard.

We brunched at The Beach Hut Café at Friar’s Cliff. Readers may remember that on a recent visit I chose a meal described as pulled pork burger with chips and salad, and pointed out that this was not what I had been given. My observation was accepted and an undertaking to change what was written on the board was promised. The specials board now features a quarter pound burger topped with pulled pork. There is no mention of salad. I expressed my appreciation of this, which went down well.

The sea was rather wilder today. There was just one couple on the beach, basking beside a breakwater.

It will come as no surprise that, after Beach Hut big breakfasts, pizza and salad sufficed for our evening meal.

“Just Like Daddy’s”

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This morning I became a veritable barber in a dead-heading spree.

I began with the prolific Japanese anemones in the front garden.

As I look out of my sitting room window each morning, I think of that excellent blogging poet Pleasant Street, who commented recently that she preferred to see older blooms alongside the fresh ones, “like life”. Although our reason for dead-heading is not vicariously to deny the effects of ageing, but rather to promote new growth, Pleasant certainly has a point. In deference to that I have left the blooms immediately in view to nature.

I also gathered up some of the branches broken by the winds. As the day continued the winds gradually returned to approach the 60 m.p.h. expected this evening.

Remarkably little damage has so far been incurred. Here are the Palm Bed;

the corners at the house end of the Brick Path;

the Gazebo Path;

Elizabeth’s Bed;

the solanum and clematis draped on the dead tree;

perked-up dahlias;

petunias and begonias in large pots;

chrysanthemums;

and rose Gloriana.

The Small White butterflies flitted around everywhere.

This afternoon Elizabeth visited and we took a trip to Molly’s Den, where I photographed a few random displays.

Not quite so random was this scene, taking me back to one Christmas in the 1980s.

Louisa would have been about six or seven when Jessica and I bought her an ironing board. “Just like Daddy’s”, was her delighted cry.

This evening, before Elizabeth returned home, we dined on Jackie’s perfect pork paprika and wild rice. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and my sister and I drank more of the Fleurie.