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This afternoon I planned to take a trip to Mudeford Quay after watching the Wimbledon semi final match between Kevin Anderson and John Isner. After the third consecutive tie-break set I decided to leave the match and Jackie drove me to Mudeford. On our return home, the fifth set had just begun. This was clearly going to take some time, so we reversed our normal process; ate lasagna and salad from plates on our knees watching the match, and drank our Malbec and Hoegaarden in the Rose Garden almost two hours later. When the final point was scored, the set closed at 26/24; the contest had lasted 6 hours and 35 minutes; and both men had grown stubble.
The reason I was keen to go to Mudeford was that when, some time ago, we had last seen low tide at this location Paul Soren had calculated that the next time this would occur would be today.
Sure enough, my Australian friend was right. We could see the sandbanks and the marker buoys. In the final picture in the above group a little motorised boat comes into view.
For safe passage, this was steered through the port and starboard markers.
On this glorious summer’s day people of all ages and sizes endeavoured to catch crabs off the quayside,
while hopeful gulls circled overhead for any that may be dropped.
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Late this morning Jackie drove us to Mudeford for a visit to the quay, then on to Friars Cliff for brunch at the eponymous cafe.
Whilst I wandered around the harbour, Jackie enjoyed coffee in the cafe.
Looking out to sea, my ears were pounded by the white horses rumbling across the steely, turbulent, water’s surface, and crashing against the sturdy quayside;
shrieking of the squabbling gulls. The guests at the boisterous shindig being held against the backdrop of the most expensive beach huts in the country, joined forces to evict a jet gatecrasher.
Making good use of scoops of seawater, still ogled by hopeful scavengers perched on posts, the crew of a small fishing boat were engaged in cleaning up at their docking area.
As always, neatly stacked on the quay, lay buoys and ropes between towers of crusted crab baskets.
The entrance to the harbour lies beyond a protective spit. At once, the squeals were silenced and the water became still as rippled sheets of reflective glass. In fact the only sound was a feeble squeak emitted by the open beak of an adolescent cygnet.
Anchored boats made no motion, even when the gulls took off and landed on their gunwales. The outboard motor in the first photograph reminded me of one Jessica bought secondhand in Newark and used for one day in Instow in Devon. She left her recently acquired dinghy in the bay facing our holiday house. In the morning the motor was gone. As was every other similar item from other boats. This was apparently the first time such a theft had ever occurred at that location. I guess that was another example of sod’s law.
A solitary angler chose a position at the point of aquatic contrast.
This evening we dined on meat samosas, chicken and spinach curry, and paratha. I finished the chianti.
