Strong winds and heavy rain rampaged through the morning, keeping me occupied with administration and ironing, while Jackie did the shopping.
Just two of the administrative events are worthy of note. It is rather more complicated than I would have thought to close a French bank account which is in credit with no unpaid cheques outstanding. This has been exacerbated by what turned out to be a standard letter contradicting what I had been advised on the telephone. Phone calls and letters have been involved. I was advised to ignore the latest letter. I should be receiving a statement and a transfer of funds soon. We’ll see.
A further telephone call related to the setting up of a funeral plan. Well, you never know.
Soon after lunch the rain ceased and an assertive sun shouldered the dismal clouds aside, sending us off in search of bluebells.
Opposite the shadowy woodland of Shirley Holms
Jackie spotted a pair of white doves on a farmhouse roof.
In 1588 the Spanish Armada failed in their attempt to conquer England. A peaceful invasion is, however under way in the form of their national bluebells. These in our garden are bigger, stronger, and lighter in colour than
the English ones that still line the hedgerows and stock the woodlands of Boldre and other parts of the forest.
Muddy tracks have been left by the recent rain, but it is now warm enough for horses in fields to discard their rugs.
As we drove through East End the leader of a trio of three cows fixed our Modus with a stare and bellowed instructions to get out of the way.
An egret occupied the beach at Tanners Lane against the backdrop of rape fields on the Isle of Wight.
This evening we dined at The Royal Oak. Jackie enjoyed an excellent beef burger in sourdough bread with French fries and salad. My equally good meal was superbly cooked haddock, chips and peas. My heap of chunky chips with skins was extremely daunting and Jackie couldn’t finish her fries. She drank Amstell and I drank Malbec.