Early this morning, once again in steady rain, Jackie and I transported another Modus-load of soggy garden refuse to the Efford Recycling Centre, and continued on a damp forest drive.
A pair of wet donkeys at East Boldre with little leaves adhering to their spiral-patterned hides hopefully raised their mournful heads as I disembarked to photograph them.
Ponies and their foals seemed happier in nature’s cool showers along Furzey Lane. Equally damp they contentedly cropped their pasturage.
One foal took time away from suckling to have a good scratch;
another rested beneath an oak tree surviving against the odds which was laden with acorns ready to drop.
Raindrops must have slid down this chicken’s feathers.
I never met Queen Elizabeth II, but I did once bump into Prince Philip.
Sometime in the early 1990s when Jessica and I were staying in Cumbria in the premises of the late Hugh Lowther, married at the time to my late wife’s cousin Angie – possibly not the holiday spent with Ali, Steve, and James, in 1992, during which today’s header photograph was taken – we attended a show event in the grounds of Hugh’s father, the 7th Earl of Lonsdale. Willie, Viscount Whitelaw of Penrith, was one of the dignitaries I recognised within the secure palisade surrounding the area.
When wandering around, I passed the entrance to a marquee just as an elegant gentleman dashed out unable to avoid a collision. Thus I met the Queen’s Consort.
This evening we repeated yesterday’s wholesome fare, except that Jackie drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the Burgundy.