September 2017 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

Britain’s Most Expensive Beach Hut

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The wind kept up this morning, but the rain did not return until this afternoon. The light changed by the minute.

As the sunshine came and went, I had to be patient to take this photograph of the front garden trellis which held solanum, roses, rose hips, petunias, lobelia, nasturtiums, and cotoneaster. Only the clematis and honeysuckle have faded from sight.

We took a trip to Highcliffe beach. A pair of dogs romped along the clifftop,

where the sign warning of crumbling cliffs will probably need to be moved further inland.

When checking on the parking fees, Jackie was greeted by a fairly faint rainbow.

A building worker shared his breakfast with the grateful gulls, and

the rainbow shifted in his direction.

Pools rippled in the car park, against which

the Isle of Wight and The Needles were virtually misted from sight.

One young man stood and watched the

choppy seas

and cloudy skies.

I only needed to turn my head inland to look down on walkers bathed in woodland sunshine;

and twist again for a view of the light on the coastline to my left

and the sight of a dog that probably didn’t belong to the surfboard carrier.

Leaving the scrub behind me,

Down steps

and slopes I descended

to the shore.

On the way down I watched a jogger and dog-walker pass each other.

The woman with the dog went on to cross paths with a couple on a lower level,

and a young lady gradually overhauled another pair, as they passed the Lifeguards’ hut.

Waves sprayed the breakwaters, and, unhindered,

rolled onto the shingle, now at my feet.

Across to my right was a clear view of Mudeford Spit and Sandbank leading to Hengistbury Head. The beach huts visible in this photograph cost as much as £275,000. That’s right. £275,000.

According to metro.co.uk this one went on the market in July this year for £280,000. The article informs us that:

‘For £280,000 you could buy a four-bedroom detached house in Huddersfield or two three-bed cottages with an acre of land in the village of Maerdy, South Wales.

The sandbank can only be accessed by a 20 minute walk, a ride on a novelty land train or by ferry but its isolated position is what gives it its exclusivity and value.

Beach hut owners have to share communal bathroom facilities and can only sleep in the huts between March and October, but can visit any time of year.

Britain’s most expensive beach hut goes on sale for a mere £280,000 — Worth a quarter of a million? BNPS

Hut 78 is in a handy location close to the ferry jetty and the communal facilities.

It looks out Christchurch Harbour where the new owners will be able to enjoy stunning sunsets.

The timber home measures 16ft 7in by 10ft 2in and comfortably sleeps four, with a double bed in a mezzanine level.

Solar panels on the roof power the fridge and lights, the cooker runs on bottled gas and there is a water tank that feeds into the kitchen sink.’

As I climbed back up to the car park, another couple of walkers greeted me and continued along their path.

I rejoined Jackie who drove us on to Barton on Sea. From there we were called back home in a hurry. We had been told by our mortgage lender to expect a call this morning from a surveyor coming to value the house. His call would be to arrange a viewing. He did call me. He was outside our house. He had been given a time to be there. We hadn’t.

I guided the gentleman round the house and garden. We then returned to New Milton for some shopping and banking, and brunched at Wendy’s excellent café. Then the rain came.

For dinner this evening Jackie produced a tasty fish pie, mashed potato, carrot and swede mash, and sautéed leeks, peppers, and green beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

One That Didn’t Get Away

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In anticipation of the expected 45 m.p.h. winds we were out early this morning battening down the hatches.

Chairs

and hanging baskets were grounded;

trugs, like this blue one on the chair at the west end of the Phantom Path were upended;

I lifted this flowering gladiolus’s broken stem and wedged it between another and the bamboo support. It was rather ragged but deserved a lift.

This Small White butterfly hadn’t heard the weather forecast.

Dahlias, of course, are in season;

verbena bonarensis goes on for ever;

salvias and snapdragons still thrive,

as do some begonias.

Hips, like those of Rosa Glauca, glow, glistening.

Kniphofias are having a second flush,

as are roses, including Crown Princess Margareta, although most are showing signs of age.

Most of the beds are still vibrant.

We have many ferns. A Japanese Painted Lady sits in the centre of these.

Jackie spent some time planting bulbs,

and dived into the Kitchen Bed

to emerge like a triumphant angler with a lengthy bramble.

Sid has now joined Aaron in AP Maintenance. Today they switched to the afternoon. By then the wind had really got up and the rain began to fall, leaving its mark on Jackie’s lens when she took some of ,these photographs. In less than two hours

Sid mowed the grass;

Aaron transformed the eucalyptus, seen here blowing in the wind,

to this;

the pair removed an extraneous buddleia, thus revealing the trunk of a Cordyline Australis which they stripped of dead lower foliage;

smoothed out the gravel on the back drive, and took away all their cuttings and the contents of one of our orange bags.

The boughs of the trees, for example the weeping birch, were whipped by the wind, and, by the time the maintenance crew had left, the rain was hammering down.

Shelly and Ron visited this afternoon. Ron investigated our drainage system; I printed the pictures from Ron’s party for them; and Shelly brought some of her own freshly picked runner beans which Jackie and I ate for dinner, along with chicken marinaded in Nando’s tasty mango and lime sauce, mashed potato, and carrot and swede mash. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

A Beautiful Memorial

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This morning Jackie drove us around the forest.

A new residential development is being constructed almost opposite the Parish Church in Hordle Lane.

The builders are

and, as such post a

On the way to Tiptoe, cyclamen emerge from the verge of Mead End Road;

Gates Cottage lies on a bend;

and we exchanged greetings with a couple riding in a trap.

Wobbly Cottage, built on a hill,

enjoys splendid woodland opposite

and alongside.

A little further along the road, Boundary car park offers splendid views of moorland

to which this horse is being led.

Cyclists were out in force, and outside Burley, pony trekkers adopted their two abreast defensive technique.

Wild ponies, knowing they have the right of way, don’t bother.

Driving through Thorney Hill, Jackie spotted a rather beautiful little church. As we searched for a suitable parking spot, one of two gentlemen clearing a ditch in front of it beckoned to us and opened the gate

leading to the Renaissance style building. We were to learn who was represented by the angles over the circular window and the bell tower.

First, we wandered around the graveyard with its New Forest backdrop.

Inside we received a warm welcome by a couple greeting visitors. We had had the good fortune to discover the church on the day it was taking part in the Historic Churches open day. Normally, apart from regular Sunday services at 9.20 a.m. it is only open on Saturday afternoons from May to September between 2.00 and 4.00. The information that follows is gleaned from the leaflet ‘All Saints’ Church, Thorney Hill’.

The church was built for ‘Lord John and Lady Constance Manners. Lady Constance was born Hamlyn-Fane, a family with connections to the Earls of Westmorland.’ ‘The family also owned Clovelly Estate, and it was in All Saints’ Church Clovelly that she married John Masters, 3rd Lord Manners of Foston in 1885.’

‘John and Constance Manners had five children: Mary Christine, twins Betty and Agnes, John and Francis. During a visit to India Mary Christine contracted cholera and died. She was buried in Clovelly, but the family near [their home at] Avon Tyrell [house] and built All Saints’ Church in 1906.’

‘Detmar Blow, believed to be John Ruskin’s last protégé, was commissioned to design All Saints’ Church.’ ‘A sense of space is created by use of both square and round pillars, made from fine Caen stone.’

‘On the two sets of wooden doors are carvings of a cherub face, believed to be that of Mary Christine. On our visit a small spider was engaged in spinning a shroud.

‘A commemoration plaque to her is situated on the back left hand wall. It is carved by Eric Gill and listed by the Tate as among his finest work.

‘Sadness again struck the family when their son John was killed in the first days of the First World War in the retreat from Mons. His body was never found. Constance Manners chose Bertram MacKennal, an Australian sculptor, to make the bronze effigy of John, now placed in the Church. He uses a soldier’s belongings to great effect in the sculpture. The inscription and distraught angels above are carved by Eric Gill.’

A photograph of the young lady stands on the wall above her brother’s monument.

‘The most striking feature in the church is the mural. It was painted in memory of Constance, who died in 1920, by Phoebe Traquair, an Irish lady by birth who lived in Scotland. It is one of only two of her murals in England; all the others are in Scotland. Phoebe was a leading member of the Arts and Crafts movement and worked in many media, including enamelling, jewellery and book-binding. She completed the mural in 1922 aged seventy. The theme is Te Deum – Praise the Lord. As in others of her murals Phoebe Traquair has used the faces of real persons, living and historical, when painting the characters…..quite a few have been identified with varying degree[s] of certainty’ These are available on consulting a key kept in the church.

‘The dome top is painted gold which reflects and gathers the light around a portrayal of Christ in Glory. At his feet are children from Thorney Hill School possibly taken from a photograph of 1922.’

A floral display behind the splendidly original pulpit is perfectly colour coordinated.

I ascended the wooden spiral staircase

to the organ loft

in order to secure an aerial view of the sanctuary through a chandelier.

The circular window behind me focussed on the forest.

The need for the Thieves Beware notice on the front door is made clear in the leaflet. ‘In the last fifty years All Saints’ church has suffered several disastrous events. The lead on the roof was first stolen in 1966. The aluminium which replaced it was found to be perforated with pin sized holes resulting in damage by damp. With the help of English Heritage a lead roof was again fitted in 2005 only to be partly stolen in 2013. Fire has struck several times, fortunately there was time for anything removable to be taken outside. The storm in January 1990 brought down all the trees in front of the church, snapping some of them in half and leaving the church inaccessible for weeks.’

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb pork paprika, wild rice, green beans, and broccoli. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Fleurie.

P.S. My friend Barrie Haynes posted this on Facebook: Barrie Haynes Thanks for that Derrick, truly one of the wonders of the New Forest. When I was a boy the children of Thorney Hill had a special class at school, as they were a rough lot and smelled! I’m not making this up. There was also a myth that the lady in question was in fact entombed there and because of an expert make over by the embalmer, looked just the same as the day she died. I had lots of friends in Bransgore, but we were warned that the church was haunted and we never went up there after dark! If she was brought back from India to Clovelly it would be very interesting to see the logistics of this operation, the cost must have been enormous but the Manners were never short of a few bob! Hope this is of interest to your readers.

Tackled In Vain

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Today’s set of scanned colour negatives from October 1992 is of Newark Rugby Club Under Thirteens v. Paviors. Here, the home side’s scrum half gets the ball away as he hits the deck. This is the player whose job is to receive the oval ball from the scrum and pass it on.

This time it is a Paviors player who makes a pass.

One determined Newark lad seems to have a loose gum shield;

another’s tackle fails to prevent a Pavior pass.

Here the home full back charges into the opposition. The full back is the last line of defence, and will often consider attack to be the best option.

This targeted chase

results in a successful tackle,

whereas this fleet lad eludes one.

Oh. Oh. There goes that gum shield again.

and again.

Although you can’t see it, Sam, with the knee-strapping, has actually made a break with the ball.

Contrary to appearances, the referee is not about to tackle this red-head,

although this opposition member is.

Number 12. in the centre, has the ball here.

Such an effort goes into this tackle, but the Newark player still makes a successful pass.

Here is another.

When a player gets clean away with the ball we term it a break.

This is what a worm’s eye view of a scrum looks like. Note the strapped knee,

belonging to Sam, who, defending manfully, is tackled,

passes the ball, and is then tackled late. A tackle is deemed late when the scragged player no longer holds the ball on impact. Given the amount of opposition bearing down on the Newark line, the ensuing penalty comes in rather handy.

Rugby cheerleaders wear warm clothing and often repair to the pavilion to do something more interesting.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s fiery pork paprika, wild rice, and steaming broccoli. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2014.

The Quiet Coach

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Yesterday afternoon Jackie drove me to New Milton where I boarded the train to Clapham Junction. Luci met me there and transported me to her home in Hambalt Road, where I added my signature to various documents as joint executor of Wolf’s will.

We then spent the evening together enjoying wide-ranging conversation about our long term friendship, reminiscing about my friend, and thinking forward to the future. Luci cooked a very tasty lamb meat loaf served with sweet potatoes and salad followed by a chocolate sponge with blueberries and strawberries. We shared a bottle of Wolf Blass red label 2016. I stayed the night in preparation for our visit to the Probate Court.

Luci’s well tended small paved back garden is full of mature shrubs and large pots planted chiefly with begonias.

A buddleia is trained against the back fence,

and red geraniums reach out from a hanging basket.

In the middle of the morning Luci drove us to Clapham South Underground Station nearby which she parked the car and we continued our journey to Chancery Lane by Tube.

Only yesterday evening our friend had been speaking of the increase in cyclists taking to the roads in London. Those machines chained to railings immediately outside the station and opposite bear witness to this.

Conker trees are coming to fruition on Clapham Common,

on and past which joggers exercised.

This No 50 bus approaching the tube station will have left Stockwell on its way to Katherine Street, Croydon via Streatham, Norbury, and Thornton Heath. It has to make its way through far more traffic that would have been the case when it began operating in the early 1950s. We travelled through Stockwell on our way to The Royal Court of Justice. A bus would have taken much longer.

At the court we were subjected to scanning and searching similar to that undertaken by airport security. My metal hip, as usual, set off the alarm, and, arms akimbo, I stood until my statement that it was my hip that had rung the bell was confirmed. My cameras were temporarily confiscated, and my electric toothbrush caused a little excitement.

Swearing the oath relating to the application for probate was smooth and straightforward.

Luci accompanied me in a taxi to Waterloo where I caught the train back to Brockenhurst. Jackie then drove me back home.

On each of my journeys to and from London I was engaged in contrasting discussions in the Quiet Coach. This is the one carriage where it is forbidden to use mobile phones and customers are asked to be quiet.

On the outward journey there were not many passengers on board. An obviously important gentleman joined at Southampton and sat diagonally opposite me. He proceeded to take phone calls and deliver instructions about someone who had just undergone an operation and should not fly for three days. At the end of the second conversation I pointed to the signs – one over each seat – and asked him if he realised he was in the quiet coach. He said he did and the calls were about a patient in hospital. I replied that we were well aware of that because we could hear everything. Another passenger chipped in with “You could go to another coach”. “Well, if it’s that important….” replied the miscreant. He then rose to his feet, screamed at me that “what’s important is that I take the call”, and, phone in hand, disappeared from the carriage, soon to return. He again sat down and concentrated on his laptop, thumping his hand up and down on the table until he wore himself out.

The return journey’s conversation was rather different. The carriage was packed. I found two sets of four seats spanning the narrow gangway. Four were occupied, four were piled with luggage. One young man was talking on his mobile phone. Feeling like a really crotchety old git I said “I need one of these seats. I don’t care which”. Only the young man, continuing his conversation, moved his backpack from the seat. I thanked him and sat down. I thought I would not interrupt until the train got under way. I always believe in giving people a chance. Nothing changed after we set off. I went into my now all to familiar routine. Reacting crossly, the lad turned his phone off. There was a bit of remonstration and I was allowed to get back to my book. After a few more minutes my companion apologised and said he had just been for a job interview and was in a bad mood. I was most sympathetic; we chatted for a while about the job and the problem of interviews in general; I returned to my book; he plugged in earphones; we ended up the best of friends, and said our farewells when I left.

I’m not sure I will have the stomach for the quiet coach on my next journey.

This evening we dined on Mr Chan’s Hordle Chinese Take Away fare. I finished the Bordeaux and Jackie drank sparkling water.

Second Milestone Of 1992

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I was born when my mother was nineteen. Later in the year she reached her twentieth birthday, and on 2nd of October 1992, her three score years and ten.

Today I scanned some colour negatives from 4th of October 1992 made at Mum’s 70th birthday party.

Two little girls in the form of Louisa and Danni clung to their Grandma for the present opening. Jacqueline stands by in the first picture; Elizabeth is in the background of the second; and Chris appears to be showing his Mum where to go.

Here, Jessica and Jacqueline watch the birthday girl open my present.

Che was Mum’s first great-grandchild. His father, James, uncle, Mark, and cousins, Jack junior and Sam look on with awe as she unwraps a print I produced from a photograph I had taken at her previous birthday party when Louisa and Danni were introduced to the latest family member,

who was also shown his earlier image.

Here are Elizabeth,

and James in individual shots;

and Becky doing a passable imitation of Stan Laurel.

Sam, Adam, Jessica, and Danni look on

while the children’s grandmother prepares to slay her cake.

This morning, Ann of Kitchen Makers visited to measure up for a quotation for a new kitchen.

Immediately after lunch I set off for Luci’s in Clapham. We will check over documents this evening; I will stay overnight; and the next day we will sign probate paperwork for Wolf’s will.

First Milestone Of 1992

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I reached my half century in July 1992.

The first celebration, for a group of friends based in London, took place in Michael and Heidi’s garden at Tanfield Road in Croydon.

Among others they included Carole,

and Steve.

The next event was held at our home in Newark. Friends included Mike Craven,

Giles, and quite a few more.

Louisa, and Sam were in attendance.

So was I.

Naturally, Jessica had made a cake, and I was obliged to blow out the candles. This caused a certain amount of amusement;

then, especially by Jessica

and Louisa,

who offered some assistance, I was eagerly watched as I cut it.

As was her wont, Mum found her way to the washing up.

Jessica kept her company.

I do hope my shirt had been washed between these two parties. This was the first milestone of 1992. The second is to follow.

Shelly and Ron visited to return various cooking pots from the weekend, and I printed a few of the pictures for Shelly and Donna.

Mr Pink’s fish and chips joined our gherkins and pickled onions for dinner this evening. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the Bordeaux.

Remembering Hyde Park Square.

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My post AAARGH recounts the tale of three disastrous weeks as a tenant in Hyde Park Square, part of the prestigious Hyde Park Estate. According to Wikipedia ‘it is an affluent area, characterised by a layout of squares and crescents, and is home to several embassies, prestigious businesses and celebrities’ of which I was not destined to become a member. It ‘was developed in the nineteenth century on land owned by the Bishop of London and was originally known as the Paddington Estate. Ownership then passed to the Church Commissioners who remain the primary freeholders of the estate.

^‘These Streets of London colour slides made in November 2004 portray the neighbourhood in which I had hoped to settle. I scanned them today.

Norfolk Square W2 lies between Praed Street and Sussex Gardens. Hertha Ayrton, Physicist lived there at the turn of the twentieth century. There would have been no plastic bags hanging from trees in her day.

Sussex Place lies at the end of Bathurst Mews running alongside Sussex Gardens.

Two bedroomed houses here are priced at one and three quarter million pounds sterling. There are, of course no gardens. The only Mews still operating as a working stables, this street is unique due to its continuing equine usage in the form of Hyde Park Stables at number 63.

Lady Violet Bonham-Carter, Politician & Writer; and the engineer, Robert Stephenson, were both past residents of Gloucester Square, on a bench in which this small family took their rest after wandering up

Hyde Park Garden Mews through the entrance arch of which a horse and rider had apparently previously passed. It seems as if the person responsible for the signage was short of an S as displayed in this second picture. This street was home to Quentin Wilson, Top Gear motoring journalist.

Strathearn Place joins one end of Hyde Park Square. The Victoria was my local pub for the very brief period mentioned above. I think I enjoyed a Thai meal there one Sunday lunchtime.

In March 2015 The Daily Mail reported that ‘a conwoman has admitted trying to sell a mews house in an exclusive area of London for £1 million – right under its real owner’s nose. Monika Brzezinska, 28, used false identity documents to pretend to be the lawful owner of a home in Clarendon Mews, in Bayswater, west London, in November last year.’ The address was in Clarendon Mews.

It was Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, whose plaque, appears on this house on the corner of Clarendon Close, who designed the dying iconic red telephone box that has often featured in my posts.

Wikipedia tells us that ‘Marble Arch is a 19th-century white marble faced triumphal arch and London landmark. The structure was designed by John Nash in 1827 to be the state entrance to the cour d’honneur of Buckingham Palace; it stood near the site of what is today the three-bayed, central projection of the palace containing the well known balcony.^[1] In 1851 it was relocated and following the widening of Park Lane in the early 1960s is now sited, incongruently isolated, on a large traffic island at the junction of Oxford Street, Park Lane and Edgware Road.’ Here it is alongside Cumberland Gate W1, on the corner of Hyde Park.

Off Park Lane lies Culross Street,

almost opposite Brook Gate, location of

“The Animals in War Memorial, located outside Hyde Park near Brook Gate, commemorates animals that died in wars and conflicts. The creatures ranged from mules which were silenced in the Burmese jungle in World War 2 by having their vocal cords cut to glow worms, used by soldiers as a source of light to read maps in World War 1.

The memorial was unveiled by the Princess Royal in November 2004, on the 90th anniversary of the start of World War 1. It was inspired by Animals in War, a book by Jilly Cooper. A national appeal raised the £2 million cost of the memorial.

The memorial was designed by David Backhouse and consists of a 58ft curved Portland stone wall displaying carvings of animals. Two heavily-laden bronze mules struggle through a gap in the wall and ahead of them a horse and dog head off into the distance.

A wall depicts silhouettes of carved animals, along with an inscription detailing the numbers of animals lost. Beneath the main heading “Animals in War”, the memorial has two inscriptions:

“This monument is dedicated to all the animals that served and died alongside British and Allied forces in wars and campaigns throughout time.”

The second, smaller inscription simply reads: “They had no choice.”

The Animals in War Memorial is not managed by The Royal Parks. For more information about the Animals in War Memorial visit the Animals in War Memorial Fund.” (https://www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/hyde-park/things-to-see-and-do/memorials,-fountains-and-statues/animals-in-war-memorial) The images above are from this website.

A String Of Pearls

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A week ago we had celebrated Shelly’s birthday at a party in her garden sheltering under a marquee from the sun. Today it was the turn of Ron’s 70th.

This time raindrops dripped from that same tent. The 70 bunting, blown by the wind, stuck, upside down, to the awning.

Of the guests, numbering some forty people, only the hardened drinkers availed themselves of the somewhat soggy outside protection.

It was definitely a day for umbrellas.

Most of the guests gathered inside.

Some, who knew each other, were pleasantly surprised at each other’s presence.

Last week’s event had been mostly for family members. This one was largely attended by friends, but grandparents, like Helen putting on Billy’s shoes

or simply revelling in Max, were welcome.

Great aunts, Shelly

and Jackie also made much of Max,

who maintained a firm grip on Jackie’s pearls;

while his brother Billy wheeled his cars across the table.

Stephanie did manage to have a go with her younger son when the older generation allowed it.

Ron had thoughtfully provided a quiz spanning the seventy years of his life ‘in case no-one turned up’. He needn’t have worried about that. Bill

and other guests got stuck into this with bemused enthusiasm.

Donna was perhaps exempt from this game because her partner, Neil, was involved in the marking.

None was more surprised than Jackie and me when we won the competition, possibly because Becky and Ian had arrived after the judging had begun. Our daughter had completed the test on her own and in a hurry, yet scored only one point less than us.

Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi with sag or peas ponir and savoury rice was a great success. All was eaten in a very short space of time except for one helping saved by a guest who wished to wait until he had room for it.

LordBeariofBow’s comment below provides this most appropriate addition: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jg2vtWezWbw Thanks, Brian.

Shelly’s fish pie and lasagne were also excellent, as were trifle and cakes produced by Jackie’s two sisters. Red and white wine and various beers were imbibed.

On The Beach (3)

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Jackie often points out potential subjects for photographs for which I take the credit. This morning she alerted me to an array of spiders’ webs on the decking.

All that was picked up by the sunshine on this example was the lower half of the larger web. Jackie held back a few shadow-casting leaves and I bent a bit to include the lower construction. This is what we jointly produced.

This morning we drove over to Shelly and Ron’s with enough of Jackie’s exquisite chicken Jalfrezi and vegetable samosas to feed up to 40 people at Ron’s 70th birthday party tomorrow. I also gave them a couple of 10″ x 8″ prints from Shelly’s party last week.

We continued on to Friar’s Cliff Café for brunch. naturally, I shot a few beach scenes.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iTCDWQXYlY&w=560&h=315]

Not that one.

These:

Against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight and the Needles, we have water activities including kayaking, rowing, yachting, paddle boarding, jet skiing, swimming, and paddling. There is lounging in the sand soaking up the sun, sheltering under parasols and behind windbreaks, turning cartwheels, digging with buckets and spades, kicking beach balls; occupying beach huts, enjoying green ice creams, and, of course, employing the screens of mobile phones.

This evening we dined on fish fingers, chips, onion rings, and fried tomatoes. I finished the Cotes du Rhone and Jackie had imbibed her Hoegaarden on the patio beforehand.