Month: December 2022

My New Wife

Today was largely spent on the last of our Christmas shopping and wrapping presents.

Jackie made some purchases from Tesco early in the morning, then

drove me to Lymington High Street.

While she waited in the car park I walked down to the Perfumer’s and back.

Among the various shop windows I passed were those of so many charities that I reflected on this trend of our UK high streets, and wondered whether

this apparently derelict premises was destined to join its neighbours.

Our next venue was Setley Ridge Garden Centre where among its displays we found our final gift.

We arrived at the cash desk at the same time as another shopping family, the aunt of which was assumed to be my wife. This caused a certain amount of hilarious banter.

It being Flo’s birthday, we will all be dining with Becky, who has arrived here, and Ian who we will meet there, to celebrate at Lal Quilla.

Hung Out To Dry

Early this morning Jackie stocked up with provisions at Ferndene Farm Shop while I sat in the car, then continued into the forest via

Beckley Common Road, which, like all lanes on this decidedly damp, drear, day bore reflecting pools along the verges,

and soggy autumn leaves there

and in the bordering woodland, where someone had hung

a pair of toys out to dry.

Equally damp were the ponies foraging alongside Forest Road.

Distant landscapes, as, for example, visible from Wilverley Road, were distinctly hazy.

Martin and his younger son, Arlo, visited briefly at lunchtime to deliver a Christmas card with a warm message, and beverages for Jackie and for me selected from information gleaned on this blog.

This evening we dined on more of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare with which I drank Gran Selone Italian red wine.

Rising Ground Mist

Late this morning Helen and Bill visited to leave presents. This saved us a journey because we were able to exchange ours for them and their grandchildren.

This afternoon, shortly after sunset, Jackie drove me to Holmsley Passage and back.

A grey pony’s coat pierced the gloom of the moorland;

the headlights of a car reflected on the damp tarmac pierced the gloom of the Passage.

Small pockets of ground mist rose from moorland there,

and beside Wootton Bridge.

This evening we all dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent fare, with which I finished the Douro, Jackie drank Diet Pepsi, and Flo and Dillon drank fruit cordial.

Like Buses

As regular readers will know, we have been waiting for a while to have our boiler resuscitated; I have not mentioned the leaking kitchen tap, but a part for that was ordered a week or so ago.

“Would it be OK for me to come in about fifteen minutes?” Richard of Kitchen Makers asked in a telephone call this morning. This was followed by Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating with a similar question.

Naturally I welcomed both gentlemen. When Richard parked his bus on the front drive, I realised that it would be a tight squeeze for Ronan’s similar vehicle. Richard had to propel himself forward, allowing Ronan, a few minutes later, to reverse in.

Why buses? This is a reference to our pithy adage “you wait ages for a bus and then two come along at once.”

Unfortunately the Kitchen Makers expert had been sent the wrong parts.

Nevertheless he temporarily sealed a steady leak. 

When Jackie offered coffee, he pointed out that we had no water because he had turned it off.

While Richard worked on the tap, Ronan could be seen through into

the utility room fixing the boiler.

At twilight we drove to Otter Nursery for various purchases, and by dusk had moved on to Milford on Sea where we admired 

the Christmas lights;

shop windows:

knitted snowmen on bollards, and robins on letter box.

Along the coast, a walker took in the remains of sunset.

This evening we dined on succulent roast pork; crisp roast potatoes, some, softer, ones which were sweet; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts; and tasty gravy, with which I drank more of the Douro, and Flo and Dillon drank fruit cordial. Ellie happy kept a smile on proceedings.

Her Annual Task

This morning I received an e-mail from Owen at Peacock Computers stating that my WordPress blog has now been transferred, save for a few adjustments still to be made.

I spent much of the day trying to get my head around what to do next. My apologies to readers who may still be having difficulties.

Until going off to her mothers for a couple of days, Flo began a task she has been carrying out for her grannie, apart from her years in America, ever since since she was one year old.

Now she has been decorating the Christmas tree, one handed, while bearing her own daughter in the other arm.

Here are some of the baubles.

Ian brought Flo, Dillon, and Ellie home later this afternoon and returned home to Southbourne.

Ronan had not been able to collect the capacitor for the boiler today, so had to defer his visit until tomorrow evening.

We all dined on Jackie’s lemon chicken on a bed of her savoury rice with bacon this evening, each couple in their own warmed sitting room. I drank Azinhaga de Ouro Reserva 2019.

The First Dozen

Apparently our outside temperature was due to warm up today, but with continual steady rain pouring through the pewter colander overhead we haven’t investigated.

As I near completion of my reading of ‘Crime and Punishment’ I scanned the first dozen of French artist, Philippe Julian’s quirky, yet well executed, pen and wash illustrations. The rest will follow when I feature the book.

This is his portrait of the writer;

and these, the first 11 full page illustrations to the story.

I watched most of the ITV transmission of the Football World Cup Final between France and Argentina.

This evening we dined on fried eggs on toast with a side of tomatoes.

Swaddling Clothes

Sunrise this morning barely had the energy to pierce the tree line to reach our garden until considerably later.

We are unable to work out how to employ our immersion heater and have now exhausted the hot water that had remained in the tank.

A kettle must be boiled for certain specific needs. Or we could take an electric shower in our en-suite bathroom. Attractive as this may seem, having enjoyed that experience one would still need to step out of the cubicle into sub-zero temperatures.

Today I decided to risk it. The water may have been warm, but the shampoo and soap were ice-cold until applied to the body. Briskly.

My drips, as I stepped from the shower to the room, seemed to be forming icicles as I dragged a towel, cold enough for me to be uncertain as to whether it was damp or simply freezing, across my sparkling goose pimples.

We spent the day indoors in our swaddling clothes, Jackie on her computer, and I dozing over “Crime and Punishment”.

This evening we dined on oven haddock, chips, and onion rings, and garden peas, with which I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon raised somewhat above room temperature.

Are You Skating On Thin Ice?

Ronan from Tom Sutton Heating visited today. He confirmed that we had taken all reasonable steps to reactivate our boiler, but that the capacitor needed replacing. He had ordered the part, which would not be delivered until Monday. He will fit it that evening

Ian, as already arranged, came to collect Flo, Dillon, and Ellie for a weekend at Southbourne. We will make use of their heater while they are away.

Now, on a bright, sunny, day with temperatures never rising above freezing where is the warmest place available to us? You have guessed it. The Modus.

We spent the early part of the afternoon unsuccessfully attempting to resuscitate the immersion heater, then took a ride in the car.

We needed to go no further than the largely icebound Hatchet Pond

where we stayed until just before the early sunset.

The pair of swans and their cygnets stayed on the edge of the lake.

Despite the sign set up by the Forestry Commission “Are you skating on thin ice?”, and the news of the deaths of four boys in Solihull succumbing to cardiac arrests from the shock of falling into icy water a few days ago,

one man, joined by a walker and a dog, skated up and down the Hatchet Moor section of the pond,

while a young family played on the shallows of the main body of water,

and a group of teenagers walked across it. Had the youngsters been here in the summer they would have been warned of the lethal currents in the depths of this pond.

A woman who remonstrated to no avail with the parents of the family, explained to us that her son was a fireman who had often been one who pulled dead bodies out of the water.

This evening we dined on the last of the left-overs. Jackie’s choice was the beef and the Bolognese, mine the curry.

Frozen Stone

It has been our coldest night of the year. Our boiler is still not working, and the next service appointment has been deferred until 19th January. I made a further call today and secured a visit for tomorrow morning.

We have a couple of plug in radiators and a fan heater. Strategically distributed, and with extra layers of clothing, they will have to do.

As shown by these leaves embedded in the ice of a frozen fountain, when Martin began working today the temperature outside was -6C.

He uses the stone he attempted to pick up to provide a slope for his wheelbarrow regularly transported to and from the stacks of material on the back drive. This was frozen to the ground.

A fulcrum was required in order for him to prise it loose.

The aggregate providing the next level was wheeled in the barrow

and tipped out ready for

compacting with a machine designed for the purpose.

Before applying the compactor, the material frozen solid in its bags had to be decompressed with a pickaxe and

being shovelled into the barrow. Martin kept this up all morning.

This evening we dined on Red Chilli’s excellent takeaway fare, each couple on trays in their respective sitting rooms heated by an electric radiator. My main meal was Lamb Dhansak, Jackie’s, Sag Chicken; we shared mushroom rice and a plain paratha.

Tingling Toes

Especially during this year’s very hot summer months there really is no point in attempting to lunch at our favourite café at Friars Cliff. This is because the car park on the cliff top is usually packed, indicating that the eatery will be too.

Today, its seemed, would be rather different. No-one but hardened dog-walkers would venture down to the sand.

And so, apart from scavenging crows,

and one sole shivering individual,

it proved to be.

Uninviting waves crashed on rocks and shingle.

One little baby probably left for home with extra-tingling toes.

After our usual big breakfasts at the Beach Hut Café we returned home warm and comfortable and opened the door to a cold house.

The boiler had ceased functioning.

Fortunately I stuck my nose in a frightening manual and pressed a few buttons which got it going again. Unfortunately that didn’t last long, so I will have to call our heating engineer tomorrow. We had already booked the annual service about ten days ago. The earliest date he could manage is 19th January. So we will see.

Now we all have tingling toes.

Despite her efforts to prove the contrary Jackie is still not well enough to attend a social evening hosted by our neighbours Gordon and Chrissie. I therefore went on my own and spent part of an enjoyable gathering meeting many neighbours; listening to the piano playing of Ben Barr; drinking Merlot and eating plentiful snacks before returning early to check on my wife.