October 2017 – Page 2 – derrickjknight

A Very Wise Chicken

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Yesterday afternoon at Hockey’s Farm shop, a clutch of bantam chickens basked atop their coop.

Others, now identified by Bruce Goodman as Sussex, stabbed at a swinging cauliflower.

I trust they will forgive me for having forgotten them.

With winds at 57 miles an hour and more than 60 m.p.h. gusts, we were drawn to visit Milford on Sea this afternoon

for a look at the waves.

The Isle of Wight sailed along the horizon

beneath the sliver-lined clouds.

A couple walked along the renewed promenade above the replacement beach huts;

against the sides of which sea foam slapped and rolled up the steps to the beach.

A number of other photographers fought the winds

as they captured the blustery elements, or each other.

Jackie watched this elderly person leaning on the bench and taking in the sea air for quite some time. She thought the woman was enjoying the activity rather more than her younger companions.

This young man

enjoyed testing himself against the gusts;

a bedraggled dog hung its head;

and a couple struggled across the car park.

Some more sensible souls, operated their cameras from the safety of their cars.

This young woman laughed uproariously when I called her chicken.

Having an inkling that I might get a bit wet,

I leaned into the wind, spray lashing my face and my camera, and advanced to the sea wall as the waves came in from the Solent,

crashing over the wall

and me.

Soaked to the skin, I acknowledged that my friend in her car had really been very wise. This amused her even more. Back at home I changed into dry clothes.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s sublime lemon chicken; sautéed new potatoes, onions, and mange touts; and crunchy carrots and broccoli, with which I drank Ebeia Ribera del Duero 2015 from which Jackie abstained.

Mine, All Mine.

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This morning we dumped two more bags of garden cuttings in the Effort Recycling Centre. Some of the branches had required sawing, so I cut up a few logs first. Afterwards we visited the GP surgery in Milford on Sea to make appointments for flu jabs; then drove back to New Milton to arrange an eye test at Boots Opticians.

We were then free for a forest drive.

Holmsley Passage is beginning to show touches of autumn.

A pair of cyclists freewheeled, two abreast, down the hill into Burley, swinging round to their left.

Russet ponies on the moorland beyond the village merged with the brown bracken.

Patches of the terrain are becoming waterlogged,

with plants disappearing under water,

and grazing animals not having far to travel for a drink.

As usual the ponies ambled at will across the road,

since they knew the grass is greener on the other side. A grey ambled along to join the others.

Cattle stood staring on the verge;

waded in ditch water in order to reach the shrubbery,

one letting me know what she thought of my intrusion;

or just took ownership of the road outside

Hockey’s Farm Shop where we enjoyed a wholesome brunch. The garment on the back of the chair is placed there for the use of customers who may feel cold.

Further down the road, lacking competition for the mast, a lone Gloucester Old Spot sow snuffled along snorting “mine, all mine”.

This evening we dined on fish fingers, chips, and baked beans. Jackie finished the Tsingao and I finished the minervois.

A Safe Distance

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This morning, Poppy demonstrated her recently acquired proficiency in completing puzzles – and in the process rather enviable flexibility.

Here she works on one that she could not manage on her last visit.

Kneeling is an activity I avoid at all costs these days. It is an unflattering process involving a certain amount of grunting, grimacing, and agonising grinding of joints. However, in order to change the angle of focus of these photographs, it had to be done.

This is not a performance our granddaughter had witnessed before.

She rapidly leapt to her feet, sped across the floor and observed the phenomenon at a safe distance. When assured that Grandpa was not a serious threat

Poppy calmly returned to her task with evident satisfaction.

Soon afterwards she adopted her daytime attire and led her parents back home to Upper Dicker.

Helen and Rob had not seen the beautiful bouquet they had sent us, so I photographed it and e-mailed the image to them.

This afternoon, Shelly and Ron visited with another splendid floral tribute and congratulatory card.

Threatened with a return of high winds from tonight, we later returned chairs and hanging baskets to the comparative security of ground level.

This evening, Jackie and I dined on her savoury rice with spare ribs, spring rolls, and noodles. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Minervois.

Wait For Us

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This morning Jackie and I kept our appointment with Neils Dagless of Dagless and Whitlock. He witnessed our signatures on the mortgage documents. There was no charge for his service, but we were asked for a donation to the Oakhaven Hospice. We were happy to do this.

Becky and Ian, who had stayed the night, returned home after lunch. Matthew, Tess, and Poppy will remain with us until tomorrow.

Later this afternoon we posted the papers to O’Neill Patient in Stockport, then drove into a dank and dismal forest.

Drizzling rain mist lay over Hinchelsea Moor,

and Wilverley Plain where we could just discern a few ponies,

a damp cow crossing the soggy carpark,

and its calves, passing a browsing pony,

and lowing “wait for us”, as they followed.

At Wilverley Pit I photographed one pony standing silhouetted,

remaining stationary whilst another photographer followed suit.

A young man patted a pony showing considerable interest in the snack he was eating.

Having been satisfied, the creature reported prospects to another,

which was then equally successful.

Cars kept their headlights on;

and a few intrepid dog walkers ventured across the vanishing moor.

This evening the five of us dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away fare. All except Matthew and Poppy drank Tsingtao beer.

Twice In A Blue Moon

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This morning I made Tess a birthday card with a print of this photograph from a couple of days ago.

Among various cards and presents we received this morning was this aptly named rose, Twice in a Blue Moon, from Becky and Ian.

Just after midday we drove off to Ringwood to get married.

Becky, Matthew, Ian, Tess, and Poppy were all waiting for us in the Registry Office car park. Jackie and I had a pre-ceremony meeting with one registrar, and the other showed members of our small group to their seats.

When we entered the room we found that our guests had spread themselves out so as to fill all available space.

Our delightful registrars were as amused as we were.

Registrar Carol took us through the service in a relaxed and friendly manner while Rachel wrote up the registry entry and our certificates. Poppy sat with her Dad, clutching the ring boxes, until she was summoned by Carol announcing “Poppy you’re on”.

She came forward and, photographed by her mother, performed her tasks admirably.

The others looked on with pleasure;

then Poppy removed Matthew’s ring.

Tess also photographed Becky photographing

the bride and groom after the ceremony;

and Becky and Poppy entering the courtyard,

where confetti was thrown and further photographs were taken.

We then repaired to the Inn on the Furlong. On the way Poppy took a rest on one of the sculptured seats in the square.

In the pub, Tess photographed Matthew and me,

and I photographed Poppy

and Tess doing “Cheers”.

We ended the day sharing a Kurgee Lamb meal at Lal Quilla, where Raj and Rahoul shared our delight. I may report further on that tomorrow.

Anyone interested in interpreting today’s title is referred to ‘Reincarnation’.

Preparing For Ophelia

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(Gwen and Yvonne, divert your eyes when it comes to the culinary coda)

Compared with what has been inflicted on Wales and Ireland by the albeit waning hurricane Ophelia, we have got off lightly.

This morning we made our usual preparations for protection from strong winds, notably laying down chairs, pedestals,

and hanging baskets.

Towards midday a fleeting glimpse of a bright red version of yesterday’s solar discs was seen peering from behind the billowing smoke

that was dark slate-coloured clouds. By the time I had gathered up the camera the sun had disappeared. The temperature was so unseasonably warm as to give the impression that there was, indeed, a fire somewhere.

I suspect that the birds thought they must be having a sleepless night;

but the weeping birch still hung unmolested.

By early afternoon the sky had lightened and the sun played upon the garden.

These pansies still brightened

the pots outside the kitchen door.

Fuchsias are among the flowers still blooming beside the greenhouse.

Various pelargoniums,

including this sweetly scented one;

and begonias still defy the coming of the first frost.

Delicate striped petunias thrive in the Cryptomeria Bed;

and white dahlias in Elizabeth’s Bed.

Among the rejuvenated roses are Just Joey,

Aloha,

Lady Emma Hamilton,

Mamma Mia,

and, photographed later, when the wind was getting up and making this spray elusive to the lens, Pink Abundance.

The weeping birch was now waving about,

as was the Cordyline Australis.

I wondered how many of these leaves would be in place in the morning.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s divine liver and bacon, new potatoes, cabbage and mange touts, with which I drank Chateau Bonhomme minervois 2016.

Slinking Into The Trees

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Today’s weather pattern was similar to yesterday’s, that is mostly overcast with the sun emerging late in the afternoon. The emergence was rather later this time, and

the orb lacked complete confidence as it vied with the smoky clouds.

Once again we ventured into the forest where, on the moors near Holmsley, I disembarked to mingle with a group of ponies.

One of this year’s earliest foals was growing into a fine young chap.

He seemed rather brighter when the sun burst through;

as did his blonde companion.

A woman in the background hurried through this shot in order not to spoil it. I told her that, on the contrary, she had made it.

I followed the animals as they forced their way through their bracken camouflage,

and crossed Holmsley Passage

to try the fodder on the other side.

I spent some time with them here.

A group of walkers with a couple of small dogs passed by

and I turned to rejoin Jackie in the Modus. She was not where I had left her. I set off down the hill in search. Soon I saw her driving back up. Not having seen me slinking into the trees, she had gone in search of me. As she said, at least she had not been trying to preserve a table in a crowded café, which has sometimes been her lot as I have gone a-wandering.

On our return to Lymington we took a diversion to Goatspen car park to watch the skies taking on a smoky pink hue as the solar frisbee skimmed across them.

Jackie was delighted to spot a group of large toadstools.

We dined at Lal Quilla. My main meal was lamb Ceylon; Jackie’s, chicken sag; we shared special fried rice, an egg paratha, and an onion bhaji. We both drank Kingfisher. The food and friendly service was as good as ever.

Up And Down The Lane

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Late this afternoon, the dull skies cleared and we enjoyed a warm and sunny day. Naturally, we took a drive into the forest.

A young man and his dog walking along Holmsley Passage,

set off onto the moors;

a couple of cyclists, passing a group relaxing on a gate crossed the junction of the road with the disused railway line that is now a footpath;

and a group of hikers, relieved of their backpacks, took a rest on the grass.

I have featured Honey Lane in Burley a couple of times before, but had never covered the whole length until today. This is because the serpentine, steeply undulating, ancient road is so pitted with often water-filled holes that you really need a 4 x 4 to negotiate it.

Jackie parked the Modus beside this gateway to a field,

and waited for me to wander down the lane and back.

The age of this thoroughfare is indicated by the high bank of hedgerows mounted by gnarled old trees.

Todays photographs are reproduced in the order in which I made them, thus replicating the ramble. Soon a troop of ponies came into view.

The tree to the right of the above picture is beginning to be carpeted by autumn leaves

waiting for the leading grey to rest its hooves.

Another wandered along behind.

This chestnut seemed rather scarred.

Cattlegrids are meant to deter hoofed animals from crossing them. Not so these two ponies foraging in someone’s garden. They clattered across the bars as I passed.

Here are more gnarled roots atop the bank,

up which some home owners have set steps to reach their gardens.

Here comes another scarred pony,

soon to be passed by a happy cyclist towing a trailer.

This wooden kissing gate was rather intriguing.

The ponies had other things on their minds.

A couple of cyclists passed the next animal,

which continued on towards me.

This tree reminded me of Jabba the Hutt.

Sunlight pierced the foliage in parts.

How, I wondered, had this very tall tree taken this circuitous route before ascending to the light above.

A blaze of yellow leaves enlivened this garden.

Sunlight dappled the shed of Orchard Farm,

and pierced a deep stygian bank.

Here is another gate to a field.

Can you spot the squirrel?

Nearing the Burley Street end of the lane

I mounted the next rise, turned, and

retraced my steps, catching sight of cyclists in the distance.

They soon sped down towards me, the first two, with cheery greetings, too fast for my lens;

their companions paused for a pleasant chat.

I spotted a few more colourful leaves.

A friendly woman walking her dog commented on what a pleasant evening it was,

and, with sunlight spanning a nearby tree, I was soon beside the Modus once more, and we set off for home.

On Holmsley Road a splendid stag seemed confused about crossing.

It had seen the approaching vehicle, turned,

and was soon back on the verge and disappearing into the forest.

Those of a tender disposition may wish to skip what we had for dinner.

This was Jackie’s superb liver and bacon casserole, leek and cauliflower cheese, roast parsnips, new potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. I finished the malbec.

Friday The Thirteenth

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Why would I go out to photograph a churchyard on such a dull day as was this one?

All will become clear later in the post.

Here are some of the gravestones in the churchyard of St Mary the Virgin, Bransgore;

many ivy clad, like this one bearing an anchor chain,

or this already sporting its Christmas holly.

A few are upright,

some less so,

and others had given up the battle with gravity.

The stump of a fallen tree was in good company.

This roller hid round the back of the church.

As in most of our churches today, the front door was locked.

Fortunately for me, Jenny was working in the small office accessed by an open side door.

This very friendly person showed me into the church, currently set out for the various community activities offered, that can be found on https://bransgore.org.

She put on the lights so that I could photograph the stained glass, much of the original of which has been lost.

In particular, climbing on a chair to do so, Jenny was keen to show me the preserved panel from July 3rd, 1822, bearing the etched date in the bottom left hand corner. To the left of the bottom of the orange cross the name of R. Carter, glazier, Priory Glassworks can be discerned when the image is enlarged.

Wikipedia tells us that ‘the church of Saint Mary the Virgin was erected in 1822 as a chapel of ease.^[10]^[11] The church is of brick with stone dressings,^[11] with a tower and originally a spire.^[12] However, the spire was removed in 1967. The early 16th-century font, which is said to have come from Christchurch, is octagonal, with a monogram J D, perhaps for “John Draper,” the last Prior of Christchurch Priory.^[11] The ecclesiastical parish of Bransgore was formed in 1875 from parts of Christchurch and Sopley.^[11]^[13] Henry William Wilberforce, son of William Wilberforce (known for his campaign against slavery), was once the vicar of Saint Mary’s church.’

When we visited MacPenny’s Garden Centre two days ago we were given this brochure:

We would always welcome an opportunity to try out a new curry restaurant. When the proprietor had the courage to open the venture on Friday 13th, this proved irresistible. Jenny explained that the church had the facilities and was there to help local activities.

The evening in the church hall was most convivial, and the food served by the Bartlett family quite superb. Jack was a splendid sommelier who assisted his sister Sophie with the waiting tasks.

From the moment of entry our nostrils were enticed by the authentic aromas emanating from the kitchen on full view of diners. Everything was cooked to order.

Dave’ s cooking was a marvel. We began with superb crisp popadoms with a variety of chutneys. The prawn puris that followed were as good as any we have ever tasted.

Majid, the manager of the Akash in Edgware Road that I regularly frequented for more than 35 years, would remove from the table any onion bhajis that his eyes told him were not up to scratch. He, and I, would have given Dave’s full marks, for their perfect crisp texture and exquisite taste.

My main course was prawn jalfrezi, and Jackie’s prawn bhuna. Both were succulent, and superbly flavoured. We shared delicate pilau rice and soft chapatis. Encouraged to bring our own bottles, we brought an Argentinian white wine that I can’t remember. Jack kept it in the fridge for us and kept our glasses replenished. That’s probably why I can’t remember what it was.

Losing The Plot?

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The sun returned today. This set us up nicely for our trawl through local solicitors in order to find one acceptable to the Family Building Society and willing to witness our signatures on the Mortgage Deed and the Declaration of Understanding.

Starting off at Milford on Sea we hit the jackpot with Dagless and Whitlock. Almost.

For these forays Jackie remained in the car while I tested the ground. This firm were willing, but they only had one Partner. The lenders insisted on two. I therefore decided to phone Garry, our mortgage advisor to see if he could find a way around this. There was no signal. When, a little later, there was one, Garry was on answerphone. I left a message.

Returning to our car I had the opportunity to envy groups of carefree folk enjoying the sunshine on the green.

We drove round to the GP surgery to collect a prescription. A spider sunbathed in the car park. It was then that I remembered Anansi. Was this creature a good omen?

We decided to hedge our bets, and try more solicitors in New Milton.

Outside Roger Cobb’s farmhouse on the coast road, a string of starlings seemed prepared to take off on a murmuration.

Neither Dixon & Stewart

nor Heppenstalls were prepared to witness the signatures, because this would suggest that they had advised us, which they hadn’t.

I was about to enter a third legal establishment when Garry rang me back with the news that a firm with only one Partner was acceptable to the lender. Monogamy rules. Back we went to Milford on Sea where we made an appointment for the witnessing, to take place on 18th.

We had definitely earned a brunch at the Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff.

Sunlight slashed the ocean,

and was borne by the waves

onto the beach where people walked their lolloping dogs and the red seaweed has almost disappeared.

One canine was keener to get to the water than was its owner.

On leaving the car, I had carried my camera, lenses, and the mortgage paperwork in a hessian supermarket bag. When I had finished taking the beach shots I didn’t have the bag. Thinking I must have put it down somewhere, I retraced my steps up to the carpark. The bag was nowhere to be seen. Back down the slopes and the steps towards the café I trudged.

Then I noticed Jackie, clearly wondering where I had got to.

Then I noticed what she was clutching. Having removed the camera I had handed her the bag. I was definitely losing the plot.

Suddenly I recovered my appetite. Now we could enjoy our brunch.

As we left the café I watched a young man allowing a little boy to be adventurous on a rocky breakwater while keeping a safe closeness.

It was definitely a day for ice creams. Despite his expression in this photograph the concerned gentleman shared his companions’ pleasure at the picture.

Another couple struggled a bit with the breeze.

Only a couple of days ago I had been told that I needed to send the report of the mortgage valuation of the house to the solicitors. The final task of the day was to return home, place this, with a covering letter, in an envelope and post it to the manager of the solicitors in Stockport, by recorded delivery. This involved a second trip to New Milton. At least it means I will know when they have received it, and they won’t get away with pretending it had arrived later.

This evening we dined on a spicy stuffed crust pizza and fresh salad, with which I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.