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.
Before Ellie was born, Becky knitted her a matching jerkin to one she had knitted for Jackie. Yesterday Flo photographed them, with her daughter also wearing her contrasting pumpkin hat.
Today Dillon photographed me with his daughter in my arms.
This morning’s steady drizzle increased its speed in time for our trip to the Recycling Centre to dispose of a carload of dripping bags of soggy garden refuse with a few clinging slugs thrown in.
Under progressive new management strict rules now apply to what was once known as the dump. Those who have managed to register in time “for free” need to make an appointment, also on line, for a precise half hour slot – neither early nor late. It is the luck of the draw whether or not the guardian of the entrance gate has you on his list – more often not. You could talk your way in if you have brought with you your allocated on line number also given to those who have the internet handy.
One can only access the various bins like those for printer cartridges or clothing, or the Reuse Shop, by walking along a narrow perimeter pathway behind barrier railings. This is to deter folk from wandering across the route of albeit slow moving cars intent on dumping their rubbish, as one gentleman did on another site with fatal consequences.
Christchurch Road was dark enough for reflections of headlight stars in wet tarmac puddles.
We diverted to Pilley Hill where the anonymous crochet artist had managed in the short space of time available to replace her pillar box Jubilee tribute with the now necessary Memorial to Queen Elizabeth II.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty, wholesome, chicken and vegetable stewp and fresh bread, with which she drank South Point Sauvignon 2021 and I drank Louis Latour Marsannay Rouge 2018. The young family ate a little later.
Early this sultry late summer morning, Jackie and I transported a few items to the Oakhaven Trust Charity shop and emerged with two Thomas Webb crystal wine glasses. When I quipped that we never came back from the Council dump empty handed I received the riposte: “so you are saying we are like the dump?”. We then bought a bottle of Marsannay Louis Latour Burgundy from M & S with a voucher Joseph and Angela had given me for my birthday.
We continued on a forest drive, where ponies were taking up their shade stations as they are wont to do in such weather. As we drove down Forest Road from Burley towards one such location
we noticed a near miss involving the vehicle that preceded the van above. A bay mare, followed by her foal dashed across from the undergrowth on the left side of the picture forcing the driver of a car in the process of passing the equine obstruction to practice his or her emergency stop skills.
The two ponies disappeared among the gorse bushes. I followed what I took to be their track, wandered around in an unsuccessful search,
scanned the empty moorland, and returned to the verge, where
the dam munched grass, and her foal
took a shady spot, before, not having learned a lesson, deciding to join the others
obstructing the traffic – and of course slowing us somewhat.
While seeking the dashing pair I had spoken with a young man walking down the road, telling him what I had seen. He warned that there was another group similarly spread across the road outside his house. He also said that he thought pannage was needed early because these animals were already eating fallen acorns which are poisonous to them. This year the pigs will be let out to snort up the mast on 19th.
As we passed his house we encountered the next road block.
After lunch I undertook an extensive dead heading session. It looks as if we will have many more roses yet.
Later, I added the pictures of Elizabeth and Ellie to https://derrickjknight.com/2022/09/11/elizabeth-meets-ellie/
This evening the four of us dined on succulent roast chicken; sage and onion stuffing; crisp Yorkshire pudding and fried potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; and very tasty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, I finished the Côtes du Rhône, and Flo and Dillon drank fruit cordial.
This afternoon, while Jackie drove Flo, Dillon. and Ellie out shopping, I watched a BBC recording of yesterday’s delayed start of the final cricket Test Match between England and South Africa.
I then took a walk round the garden with my camera.
We had given up these gladioli in the heatwave. They have revived nicely as have the nasturtiums in the background.
Begonias are all doing well;
as are Japanese anemones.
A fly had visited Winchester Cathedral,
and a bee, verbena bonariensis.
Roses Crown Princess Margareta,
Doris Tysterman,
and Super Elfin, continue to thrive.
Elizabeth visited this afternoon to meet Ellie.
My sister stayed for dinner which consisted of oven fish and chips (haddock and cod); mushy peas, pickled onions and gherkins, with which Elizabeth and I drank more of the Côtes du Rhône; Jackie drank Hoegaarden; and Flo and Dillon drank fruit cordial.
Afterwards I watched the recorded highlights from today at the test match.
The verges of the drive into the estate grounds were today lined with floral tributes to Queen Elizabeth II, who died two days ago.
What we had not realised when we decided to feature the flowers was that Broadlands was also the venue for The Romsey Show which was taking place today.
As we crawled up the road past our target venue, in the vicinity of which, with traffic nose to tail, there was no possible parking space, rather a lot of clutch pedal work was required – perhaps too much. We reached a roundabout some few hundred yards up the road, turned round it, and began to retrace our wheels. Suddenly there was the sound of a loud bang. Not from the car behind which had been trying to push in. But from beneath Jackie’s foot. The clutch pedal was flattened and not about to pop up again.
We had come to a halt on a double yellow line in two lane traffic just off a busy Romsey By-pass roundabout on the worst day of the year we could possibly have chosen.
The RAC gave us an estimated arrival time of 270 minutes. Jackie opened her puzzle book. I walked back down to Broadlands where I took the photographs first featured in this post.There a very kindly Volunteer Steward did his best, by telephonically interrupting his wife in a meeting about the event seeking anyone on site who could help. Signal was bad and this gentleman persisted in his efforts whilst at the same time managing two lanes of traffic entering the estate and herds of pedestrians wanting to cross the lines.
There wasn’t anyone available.
I staggered back to our car. Two other helpful passers-by asked if we needed anything, but they were not mechanics.
The first picture of the Modus bears a Burger Bar sign. After about an hour, Gary, sole operator of his outlet in the grounds of the Romsey Town Football Club, left his post to offer us hot drinks on the house.
Here Jackie expresses her pleasure.
The facility for the football club was very well attended, even though there was no match in progress. It is easy to see why.
Gary also left his customers to manage to drive our car onto the club premises in order to get it off the road.
Every half hour or so we received updates from RAC assuring us that on this very busy day they were doing their utmost to get someone to us. Have I mentioned that my phone battery was declining rapidly?
In fact, Ian, our next Good Samaritan, arrived half an hour early, fixed the problem in minutes, had a pleasant conversation with me, and followed us half way home.
Finally, of course, we must not forget Saint SueW, without whom I would not have been able to post these pictures.
Fortunately Jackie had prepared tonight’s dinner before we left this morning, so we were able to enjoy her wholesome beef pie; boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and broccoli; and meaty gravy. with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Calvet Prestige Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021. The young family ate later.
which tells of my headmistress bringing the news of the death of King George VI; the story of how he ascended the throne; and of 10 year old me viewing Queen Elizabeth’s coronation on television.
Three generations of UK residents have never known any other ruler.
With the accession of King Charles the Third I will have known three.
As regular readers will know, Peacock Computers are in the process of taking over the management of my WordPress account. They are experiencing similar difficulties in their communication with the blogging site’s Operator as I had with the Happiness Engineers.
The linked post above has lost one of my photographs. Many are missing from other posts. I really hope this will be temporary. We will see.
Richard of Kitchen Makers visited this morning to fix a leak in out kitchen tap.
This afternoon Jackie drove me to Whites in New Milton to collect dry cleaning – which seemed a bit incongruous on such a wet day.
This evening we dined on salt and pepper and tempura prawn preparations with stir fried vegetables and wild rice accompanied by Peroni in Jackie’s case, and more of the Bordeaux in mine. The young family will eat later.
Jackie and I drove through a succession of heavy showers on a trip to the north of the forest and back.
Manic windscreen wipers fought to keep pace with raindrops obscuring vision and sliding across the glass; roadside ditches were filling up and ever increasing circles spread around every drop striking the surfaces of pothole pools. All was gloomy darkness periodically pierced by episodes of sunshine highlighting the white trunks of birch trees and glistening foliage and field crops.
Unconcerned distant deer on Blissford Hill enjoyed their damp pasturage.
The pool at Abbotswell, dry for weeks, was beginning to fill while
rain misted the landscape below.
As we left the splashing pothole pitted site tail-twitching ponies pottered along ahead.
The stream at Ogdens North, now flowing once more, rippled across the gravel bed and foamed against a nippled fallen log.
A bejewelled oak leaf from last autumn
lay beside the wooden bridge photographed for Tootlepedal.
Becky returned home to Southbourne this afternoon, leaving good portions of her tagliatelle Bolognese for our dinner this evening, which we enjoyed with various pizzas and fresh salad. My pizza choice was salami and chillis. The young couple ate a little later than Jackie and I, who drank Peroni and more of the Bordeaux respectively.
The fairly regular substantial showers of heavy rain that we are experiencing this week has really freshened the garden and perked up flagging flowers such as
Japanese anemones which are somewhat stunted;
solanums both blue and white like this one that cascades over a tall dead elm;
various dahlias had been dried up and hanging limp;
several of these lilies had bowed low and lost their bloom;
Absolutely Fabulous continues to live up to her name;
Flower Power has risen like the Phoenix;
For Your Eyes Only still draws insects on the wing;
Rosa Glaucas’ blooms may be over, but their hips shine with health.
This afternoon Becky helped me make a birth announcement card for Ian’s concerned stepmother. This involved printing and resizing
this photograph produced by Flo when Ellie was 6 days old, for the front page,
and this one at 14 hours taken by Dillon for the inside.
During this process, when Becky was using the mouse and I was wanting to add my input to the screen, I absent-mindedly tried to do it with my glasses case. Several times. Later, in the sitting room, Becky, who had been the last to leave the computer, casually mentioned to her mother that she wanted to wait until her Dad had shut down the iMac. Even when Jackie became impatient for me to do so, I didn’t twig what was going on. I decided to comply.
Lined up in place of the confiscated mouse were my mobile and landline phones, two specs cases, and two TV remote controls. The two ladies stood leaning in the doorway quivering with silent glee.
Ian, who had paid for yesterday’s takeaway, went back home to Southbourne late that night and so was not with us to partake of the leftovers this evening.
The rest of us grazed when we had motive and opportunity. Jackie and I enjoyed the first sitting entertained by lightning strikes momentarily illuminating the tails of cats and dogs swept along in blustering gusts lashing the windows to the sound of manic drum rolls that was another electric storm. Mrs Knight drank Peroni, and I drank Château La Mauberte Bordeaux 2020.
When I returned to write this last paragraph my white mouse had transmogrified into a bar of soap.
Dillon has sent us all a number of photographs from his daughter’s first week of life.
He and Flo happily brought her home when she was just 14 hours old.
Grandparents Becky
and Ian drove them.
Our great-granddaughter was then introduced to Jackie
and me.
Naturally we jumped out of bed and came downstairs in our dressing gowns.
Early this morning I sat in the car outside Tesco where Jackie shopped while I began the daunting task of reading Samuel Richardson’s ‘Clarissa’, a vast tome containing “well over a million words” according to Angus Wilson’s introduction to my Folio Society edition. This may take me some time.
A further heavy shower hammered on the Modus roof and raindrops ran in rivulets down the windscreen. Fortunately this had ceased by the time my lady emerged from the supermarket, and we were able to unload her purchases before the next one, which accompanied us on a drive around Bisterne Close via Holmsley Passage.
Conkers and acorns will soon be ready to drop, clattering on tarmac or thudding on the sward of slowly greening fields and verges, the more succulent grass enjoyed by ponies and foals of varying ages.
Along Bisterne Close a posse of pootling ponies with a skittish foal interrupted the journey of a Range Rover Defender while we sat and waited; around the next bend an enormous giant-wheeled tractor towing a container loaded with a large item of farm machinery filled the lane until, after a while, the considerate driver brought his huge juggernaut to a halt alongside a gravelled drive, allowing us to pass before continuing his measured journey.
This evening we dined on Red Chilli’s excellent takeaway fare. My main choice was Tandoori King Prawn Naga with special fried rice. We shared poppadoms, Peshwari Naan, and onion bahjis and drank a toast to Ellie in Prosseco.
This afternoon I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2022/09/05/moll-flanders/
As we sat down to dinner this evening flashing lightning, crashing thunder, and a precipitation tattoo on the Velux window overhead heralded relief from the pressure headache that had beset me all day. The threatened storm had broken.
Dinner consisted of Becky’s tasty linguini Bolognese with freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Ian drank Moretti; Dillon drank Cider; and I drank more of the Swashbuckler.
