They Do Not Read Newspapers

This article from the front page of the New Forest Post dated

This article, from the front page of the New Forest Post of two days ago describes an incident in Sway Road early in the morning. The foal, later euphemistically ‘put down’, was in collision with a Mercedes Sprinter. The driver was unhurt. A local resident is quoted as saying: “A foal was hit and dragged down the road under the van. All of us locals are getting pretty annoyed. There have been a few foal deaths – the road is being used as a bit of a rat-run.” My paragraph is for the benefit of those who cannot read the cutting. I still haven’t worked out how to facilitate enlargement in the new editing facility.

It is so infuriating that those precious animals will have no chance to live as long as these ponies enhancing the landscape at Bashley.

Despite having the right of way on forest roads 

Donkeys, like these at Ibsley and South Gorley;

and ponies at Ibsley, have no road sense and they do not read newspapers. Notice how much more difficult it is to see them in the half light of dusk or early morning.

It was at dusk that smoke from a recently stoked bonfire clouded autumnal treetops at the bottom of Frogham Hill.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendidly spicy pasta arrabbiata, served with very hot ratatouille, and tender runner beans with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserve des Tuguets Madiran 2015.

Unfortunately, whenever I try to see a preview of the post I receive an apologetic message telling me that something has gone wrong. I do hope readers will be able to access the galleries in the usual manner.

Now I’m going to settle down to a session of recorded international rugby.

Chaucombe Green

This afternoon Jackie drove me to the pharmacy at Milford on Sea to collect a repeat prescription, and then on to Ringwood to buy printer inks from Wessex Photo.

On the way we passed Old Milton’s Chaucombe Green, which is becoming something of a memorial ground.

One of the ‘Lest We Forget’ outlined soldiers, sponsored by Councillor Geoff Beck, stands among autumn leaves fronting a bed planted with winter pansies.

A Flanders poppy decorates a lamppost beside the bordering pavement.

In ‘120 Animal Casualties’ I reported on the tally towards the end of last year posted on Roger Penny Way. I had been under the impression that this was the number of deaths.

Graphic standing silhouettes of those killed total 56. It would appear that the others were injured. As can be seen, no group of those animals who have the right of way on forest roads, went unscathed.

As I am trying to get my head around the new editing facility I cannot tell whether it will be possible for viewers to enlarge these images. I am therefore copying out the text of the Brief History of Milton Village. 

‘The manor of Milton (‘Mildeltune’) is listed in the Domesday Book of 1086 and literally means ‘Middle Farm’. It was part of the lands belonging to Hugh de Port, and the estate was held for him by William Chernet. The Chernet family maintained possession of Milton into the 13th century, although lesser families were managing the estate on their behalf. The most important of these were the Chaucombe (or Chalcombe) family, who were probably the first people to build a church in Milton in the mid 13th century. In 1303 Thomas de Chaucombe was given permission to hold a weekly market on Tuesdays at Milton, as well as an annual fair on the feast day of Mary Magdalene. From 1365 to 1565, the manor was in the possession of the Tyrrell family. The manor passed through various hands in subsequent centuries. The last significant owners were the Bursey family in the 19th century, and in the 1890s the remaining lands of the estate were subdivided and sold.’

I’m sure one or more of my blogging friends will let me know if this has been an unnecessary effort. 

The market mentioned above continues to this day, although at some stage it has moved to Wednesday.

This evening we dined on breaded chicken steaks from Tesco, which Jackie spiced up with very hot ratatouille, served with crisp sautéed potatoes and tender green beans. I finished the Merlot.

Peter Pan In Kensington Gardens

Today I scanned a few colour slides from April 2007

When I was living in Leinster Mews, Michael, Heidi, Emily, Oliver, and Alice visited me. It was imperative that we should take a trip into Kensington Gardens, and

Oliver,

Heidi and Alice should stand beside the Peter Pan statue;

and Oliver

and Alice should climb it.

Emily probably took this photograph of me and my grin;

she stood with her brother and sister beside No.100 Bayswater Road with its blue plaque recording J.M. Barrie’s residence there.

James Matthew Barrie, a Scottish author, was the creator of Peter Pan. There is much available information on the internet. I have chosen a link to the Encyclopaedia Britannica site.

The Royal Parks website has this to say about the statue:

‘Celebrating Kensington Garden’s famous fictional resident, the bronze statue features Peter Pan surrounded by squirrels, rabbits, mice and fairies.

You can find the Peter Pan statue to the west of the Long Water, in the same spot as Peter lands his bird-nest boat in the story, ‘The Little White Bird.’

Peter Pan creator and local resident JM Barrie was inspired by Kensington Gardens. He commissioned Sir George Frampton to build the statue which has been a favourite feature of the gardens since 1912.’

The railings of the gardens along Bayswater Road W2 form a weekend art gallery where painters of varying quality market their works

The afternoon we enjoyed a visit from Margery and Paul. We had a good and entertaining catch-up.

I have always thought that Jackie’s splendidly spicy Spanish omelette was the real thing. This evening I learned that it is not. Apparently the genuine article merely contains potatoes and onions. Jackie’s however, contains no potatoes. But it is stuffed with peppers, onions, mushrooms, garlic, and whatever else takes her fancy. This evening it was served with sautéed potatoes and five varieties of baked bean. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Merlot.

A Penchant For Dried Leaves

This afternoon Jackie drove me to the GP’s in Milford on Sea to order a repeat prescription.

We travelled via the winding, sunlit, autumnal, Barnes Lane.

We then turned back to the north of the forest.

Had the new traffic calming been installed on the road through Bramshaw, we wondered, in order to protect

the wandering donkeys always in evidence?

I have often seen them chewing prickly shrubs,

but a penchant for dried leaves was a new one for me.

Perhaps the efforts to slow the traffic had also been for the benefit of the basking, scratching, cud-chewing, cattle on and around the green, some of whom regularly diced with death.

The pannage period was not past for this parcel of pigs snuffling alongside Roger Penny Way. I was quite pleased to have positioned myself for these two shots, because I needed to venture down a soggy slope stepping over fallen, lichen covered, branches. Regular readers will know what happened last time I descended a much drier slope in a bit of a hurry.

Elizabeth is staying with Mum for a few days. Jackie and I dined on her splendid beef, mushrooms, and onion pie; Yorkshire pudding; new potatoes; roasted parsnips and butternut squash; and crisp cauliflower and carrots, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Calvet special release Merlot 2017.

No Madame Eglentyne

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE TO ENLARGE. THIS MAY BE REPEATED

This morning Jackie and I took a short drive into the forest.

We stopped for a while at East Boldre, where a pair of hungry donkeys lunched on cropped grass as they waited for a bus.

Even close to midday, neighbouring ponies cast elongated shadows.

The two less energetic greys, eventually rose awkwardly to their feet

and made a beeline to the summer-long dry ditch that is now filling up with drinking water.

Ponies lack the impeccable table manners of Madame Eglentyne, Geoffrey Chaucer’s Prioress, of whom he says ‘Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene’. (Her upper lip was always wiped so clean That on her cup no speck or spot was seen).

This afternoon Helen and Bill dropped in with the sisters’ late father’s train set. Although blessed with three beautiful daughters, Don Rivett had no son. He therefore had to build up an electric train set for himself. Helen has safeguarded the smaller models, while Shelly has the larger ones. Helen and Bill are soon to move house. Jackie and I have now offered Helen’s set a temporary home for a few weeks.

Having taken Mum to Southampton Eye Hospital for treatment this afternoon, Elizabeth stayed with her while Jacqueline went out for a meal. She will therefore be back here later. Jackie and I dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips and Garner’s pickled onions, with which I finished the Minervois.

Pink Seas

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS ITS GALLERY, INDIVIDUAL MEMBERS OF WHICH CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT

Yesterday I finished reading ‘An Orderly Man’, the third volume of Dirk Bogarde’s autobiography. Incidentally, Elizabeth informs me that these first editions fetch up to £150 each on various internet sites.

This volume deals with the author’s work with various international directors and his blossoming as a writer.

Elizabeth and Jacqueline left after lunch to collect Mum from hospital and settle her in at home. Jacqueline is to stay overnight with her.

Meanwhile, Jackie and I went for a drive.

 

We stopped at Sandy Down to admire the splendid autumn reds and golds.

The silhouetted confetti descending from the skies was revealed to be rapidly falling leaves.

 St Andrew’s Church at Tiptoe, still ensures that we will not forget those who died fighting for our future in the First World War.

Some time ago, Jackie had stumbled upon Tutton’s Well at Sanpit whilst surfing the net for something else. She drove me there as a surprise. The tablet photograph tells the story of this historic phenomenon. It seems too much of a coincidence that a nearby village is called Purewell, but I cannot trace a connection.

We then visited Mudeford Quay and Harbour where a perching gull secured an excellent viewpoint from which to observe boisterous waves buffeting bobbing buoys.

Other gulls flanked skeins of geese honking overhead

Moody skies permitted the sun an occasional appearance.

Shortly after sundown pink seas reflected rosy clouds above.

Elizabeth arrived home soon after we did. She brought positive news about Mum’s immediate comfortable return to her familiar surroundings.

This evening we dine on Jackie’s excellent beef pie with deliciously meaty gravy; new potatoes; crisp cauliflower, carrots and tender green beans. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank Chateau Pinenc Minervois 2017.

 

 

A Generation Gap

FOR ENLARGEMENT, CLICK ON IMAGES. THIS CAN BE REPEATED

I expected to run out of data this morning, so simply scanned a handful of photographs from the Little Venice Canal Cavalcade of May 2009. This is an annual event taking place in the canal basin within sight of Beauchamp Lodge, where I rented my counselling room.

This couple of women I found intriguing. The older lady carefully concentrating, swathed in black robes, a ring on her wedding finger; the younger in colourful T-shirt and skirt, wrists sporting a variety of bangles, a ring on her thumb. It was the younger person whose face was concealed from my view. Was this a generation gap? Were they related? How did they respond to each other’s appearance?

The two sides of the bank are spanned by an arched blue bridge, under which I have run many a time on a trip of several miles into west London along the towpath and back. Narrowboats are crammed into all the available mooring space.

The level bridge spans Warwick Crescent. Teeming crowds line both sides of the basin;

many souvenirs are on sale; someone has been busy with helium.

As they do at the nearby Notting Hill Carnival in August, drafted police officers enter into the spirit of the event as the Waterways Recovery service give them a ride.

For good measure I have added a Streets of London image of Powis Square W11 which had found its way into the same box of slides. This street is one of those accommodating the aforementioned Notting Hill Carnival.

I did, of course, run out of data, and am posting this in The Royal Oak. This is unfortunate because it means I have had to drink a pint of Razor Back. It would have been rude not to. I am now waiting to be joined by Jackie and Elizabeth for dinner here. Jacqueline will arrive a little later and stay for a couple of nights.