There was no further rain here today, which remained warm and humid enough to induce drowsiness in
ponies and foals along Holmsley Road as we began our forest drive this morning. The miniature Highland cow wandering along the verge held us up a little as
she decided to cross the road, taking her past Jackie’s open window.
The trunk of a large tree had clearly, until sawn and cleared, spanned Wittensford Lane, the luxuriant hedgerows of which bore
an abundance of eglantine roses, elegant fingers of foxgloves, and hands of honeysuckle.
Half grown piglets pausing, paddling, to partake of muddy gazpacho soup somewhat replenished by yesterday’s rain,
dashed along the verges of Kewlake Lane.
Even one recently shorn sheep along Furzley Lane suffered the panting somnolence exhibited by the ponies earlier.
This evening we dined on racks of pork spare ribs in Maple barbecue sauce on a bed of Jackie’s colourful vegetable rice topped with a thick omelette, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Tesco finest Mendoza Malbec 2020.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s colourful vegetable rice; tempura, hot a spicy, and salt and pepper prawn preparations; and spring rolls, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Fleurie.
‘Her Pride And Joy’ took the best part of three hours. The pictures were all missing and, although they were all in my Mac Photos, I needed Wayback Machine to identify them so I could return them to the post. Having recovered the gallery pictures the titles all had to be retyped. Another trick that has become apparent, even in posts after the transfer of the site, that there is often, in the larger galleries, a picture or two that won’t fit into the mosaic in its rightful place. Instead we have a big black space containing a little blue ?. The way I deal with that is to delete the empty square and add the correct picture at the end. It is then tacked on by the gremlins. There were two such in this post.
The 1956 school photograph, easy enough for me to recover, was missing from ‘Knickerbocker Glory’.
‘An Ella Day’ needed the same help from Wayback – to identify pictures in my Mac Photos. There were also two images, one apparently a screenshot, and two of the blank question mark type, which had nothing whatever to do with the post. I deleted those.
Later this afternoon I read more of Dostoevsky’s ‘A Raw Youth’.
This evening we all dined on Red Chilli’s excellent takeaway fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
As the temperature continued to rise and no rain fell on yet another very hot day, Jackie and I were relieved that we managed our gardening tasks in the earlier part of the day. While she occupied herself watering and planting, I, inhaling the glorious scents of the roses, weeded and dead-headed.
This peony, clearly self-seeded and flowering for the first time, without the strength to lift its head from the Brick Path, stretched out from the weeded area of the Dead End Path Bed. Gave it a lift with a green tie.
On the opposite side of the lawn, suspended from the peeling eucalyptus, Jackie has planted a cluster of mesembryanthemums in a basket.
Clematises and a day lily claimed their own gallery,
After an early shop at Tesco, Jackie and I took a forest drive.
What had recently been a quagmire of sunken hoof prints had hardened on moorland alongside Tiptoe Road to make walking across to photograph ponies and foals a somewhat precarious exercise.
Here are the dams and foals that drew me. Fortunately I stayed on my feet and didn’t twist my ankle.
The letter box outside Post Box Cottage on Wootton Road now celebrates foal season.
This very hot afternoon I converted from Classic to Block edits, recategorising all to Garden the following five posts from our early days of tackling the jungle:
This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic steak and onion shortcrust pie with boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts and cauliflower, with meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Diet Pepsi, I finished the Bordeaux, and Flo and Ellie drank water.
This really was a difficult task. None of the pictures was visible – although they were all in my systems I needed Wayback Machine to help me identify them and insert them in the right places. It looks to me as if this is the same for my whole Knight’s Tale series.
Last week, Martin, among other things, cleared weeds from the gravel
of the Oval Path.
Today he worked his way from the entrance to the Rose Garden,
past Florence sculpture at Fiveways,
and along the Gazebo Path. The gravel was raked at the end.
Our prolific rose, Ernest Morse, has been risking his life playing chicken across the Back Drive. Before getting out his kneeler our gardening friend began by tying back this rose which Jackie had bought along with his companion Doris Tysterman as weedy twigs about 6 years ago at Poundstretchers for the price of 49p each. At the end of the season, once these repeating blooms are over, the intention is to build a proper support for them.
Later, in order to submit a post for a request, I converted this post from Classic to Block edit:
This evening we dined on oven fish, chips, and onion rings, pickled gherkins and onions, with which Jackie drank Diet Coke and I drank more of the Bordeaux.
Later I joined Jackie continuing watering and planting in the garden; my task was weeding and dead heading – she has provided me with a Helping Hand which enables me to reach sticky willies otherwise beyond my span.
I photographed a few roses to demonstrate that dead heading is worth the effort;
and a peony because I felt like it.
Hopefully the edit conversions are also worth the effort.
I am familiar with neither the sight nor sound of a hornet, so when Flo, at the first buzzing drone, dived under the dining table apparently shielding her daughter from an air raid, and Jackie cleared all food off the table as we began our meal of the mild curry leftovers, and went on the rampage with an insecticide spray, I didn’t react any more than I would at the sight of a bee or a wasp – on the premise that if you leave it alone, it will leave you alone – and our granddaughter, while the creature was sticking itself to the skylight above, and Mrs Knight was squirting toxic particles up at it, warned that it would land in my glass of Calvet Prestige Bordeaux 2020; suddenly, like a body thrown over a balcony onto a car below in a thriller movie, the writhing menace thumped onto the table beside the wine, to be scooped up by Jackie and tossed onto the patio – now named Rasputin, the creature refused to die and wriggles still as I draft this post.
Wayback Machine helped me recover the missing portrait of Alan Titchmarsh in the first.
What is common to each is that they contain comments and images of old blogging friends who are no longer with us. Some just move on and stop posting or reading. As Pauline, The Contented Crafter, mentioned to me when we first found each other, that is OK. Often we never know the reason for disappearance. One of these stated he was no longer following after a mystifying strop.
Pauline was a generous and friendly crafter whose presents, like her bookmarks and light catchers, brightened the lives of many bloggers. Her death made her sorely missed. The same applies to Cynthia Jobin, a talented poet. Painkills2, an excellent photographer, struggled with permanent crippling pain and did eventually succumb to her ailment. Mary Tang, who grew large fruit trees in pots alongside her apartment in Sydney, has been forced to stop typing because of her condition. I do not know whether she is still alive, but she sent Jackie a mug which she treasures.
It is most helpful when people who are able, like Pauline’s daughter, Danella, let us know why such friends have suddenly become absent.
This hot afternoon, after shopping at Tesco, Jackie drove me into the forest.
Two donkeys sought shade against the side of a building in East Boldre, where
others must have rued their shaggy winter coats.
Further along the road a foal clung to his mother’s skirts when I closed the car door rather too loudly.
Shetland ponies cropped verges of Pilley Street and Jordan’s Lane
where the lake is now drying up, enough for
a pony and foal to graze where they would recently have paddled.
When the mother leading her foal thundered up from the lake bed her offspring became so frisky that I stood pointing them out to oncoming vehicles driving past.
The yarn decoration on the Pilley Hill letter box now advertises the produce that will be available at the fete on 8th of July.
Early this morning Jackie had driven Dillon and his family to Southampton airport to see him off on a trip to South Carolina for family business which will keep him away for two weeks. He was therefore unable to share our dinner of beef burgers in soft rolls layered with bacon, cheese, and Mrs Elswood’s pickled sandwich gherkins, with lashings of fried onions, and herby potato wedges prepared by Becky. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
Warmed by a climbing sun; my paths eased by Martin’s clearance work; ears soothed by sweet birdsong, occasionally accosted by raucous jackdaws; I dead headed roses and Welsh poppies and pulled up weeds this morning.
Before a trip to Ferndene Farm Shop this afternoon in order to buy three large bags of compost,
I photographed more flowers and garden views, each of which bears a title in the gallery.
Something else has gone digital is our postage stamps. I have been doing my best to ignore this leaflet from Royal Mail, but bit the bullet today and followed the instructions, filled in the form on the reverse, and posted to the recycling centre 32 first class stamps which will soon be regarded as weeds ready for composting. We are promised replacements bearing the relevant barcode.
Becky turned up just before dinner and stayed over.
We all dined on pizzas, salad, and sausage rolls our daughter brought with her. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Collin-Bourisset Fleurie 2021.
