autumn leaves – Page 5 – derrickjknight

Mad Max

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It was finger-tingling cold when Jackie continued her winter planting on this sun-bright morning and I photographed some still lingering blooms.

Outside the kitchen door pelargoniums, petunias, and erigeron vie for space.

More pelargoniums,

some with autumnal plumage, as in this urn shared with verbenas, continue to spread their colour around.

Rozanne geraniums add splashes of blue

palely reflected by clematis Comtesse de Bouchard

just about thriving on the gazebo

along with the winter flowering Cirrhosa.

There are still hardy fuchsias

I may not yet have featured.

This maple on the grass had been cut down when we arrived three years ago. We are encouraging it to come back to life.

Honesty seeds are masquerading as Pauline’s light catchers.

They are seen here in the Cryptomeria Bed.

The roses to the right of the tree rise over the Oval Bed. As can be seen, there are more to come.

Hot Lips salvia,

varieties of nasturtium,

and even of antirrhinum, still bloom.

On such a day a late afternoon forest drive was essential.

A pony in a field off South Sway Lane was more interested in the grass than in Sway Tower.

Opposite Longsdale View, where gorse blooms among the bracken,

the Isle of Wight is visible across the moors.

Along the stretch of Highland Water just outside Brockenhurst,

where stumps stand like ancient tombstones on one bank,

the deciduous trees

now wear their temporary autumn plumage;

the banks are becoming waterlogged

enough for arboreal reflections.

It was here that I was introduced to Mad Max, who had no fear of freezing his nether regions.

The forest road between Brockenhurst and Beaulieu displayed trees resplendent

with the last of their glowing golds

and burnished browns;

falling fast

to carpet the floor.

As we approached Beaulieu, a pair of backlit ponies prompted Jackie to park the car on the verge and me to wander back to photograph them. Maybe it was something I said,

for, in turn,

they turned tail,

and crossed the road,

to join companions enjoying greener grass.

The portions of our meal at The Raj two nights ago were so generous that we couldn’t eat it all and brought some home.. Jackie added samosas and onion bahjis for this evening’s repast, with which I finished the malbec.

Reflecting Autumn

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This morning Paul and Margery delivered the nicely mounted signed painting that John created on 21st September.

We brunched at Hockey’s Farm Shop.

In the lane outside a donkey rushed to our open car window in search of treats. No-one had told it that Halloween was over.

Its cousins in the farm field, having no need to cadge, could afford to ignore me.

They also took no notice of horses in the neighbouring paddock.

They shared their own grass with very small ponies

and with alpacas.

Autumn leaves

adorned trees over the Ibsley forded stream

in which their reflections swayed in dance.

Sunlight dappled the woodland alongside. If you do enlarge this last one, please ignore the litter.

As with all safely fallen forest trees, this one will remain where it lies, in the interests of ecology.

An antique coach with rather younger hitched trace-horses was parked outside the Alice Lisle pub near Ringwood.

The horses were in harness,

although one looked rather smug,

as part of its equipage dangled free.

The smaller wheels stood at rest below the cab, while the the coachmen presumably enjoyed a glass of porter in the pub.

Hopefully neither the learner nor his or her instructor will have imbibed too much.

This evening we dined on a pepperoni pizza and salad, with which Jackie drank sparkling water and I finished the Fronton.

I Hadn’t Seen Rahul

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This morning Jackie drove us to the GP surgery at Milford on Sea where we were given our flu jabs. There is nothing like joining the priority group above a certain age for letting us know where we belong.

Afterwards we travelled on for a short trip in the forest.

Gates Cottage, with its attractive picket fences is nicely situated

on a bend in Mead End Road near Lymington.

Inquisitive as always, a pair of cattle, possibly Herefords, peered through a hedge alongside the driveway to Greenslade Farm opposite the thatched cottage.

Bracken in the hedgerows wears its autumn hues.

We turned off into another lane,

and returned home via Hordle Lane where the new housing development

has changed forever the view from All Saints Parish Church,

the graveyard of which

is donning its autumn splendour.

This afternoon we returned to NatWest in Lymington where I collected the Australian dollars I am sending to Orlaith for her fifth birthday.

Jackie waited in the car for me at the bottom of the High Street while I wandered down photographing the seasonal displays.

I began with the graveyard of St Thomas and All Saints church, containing some of the souls we remember this evening;

where holly berries proclaim the season.

Like Pizza Express, we take the opportunity to amuse with spiders and ghouls carved from pumpkins featured on this bunting;

and scary creatures peering from their window.

The Dogs Trust display also includes a discreet poppy.

Inside Costa Coffee, a wandering pumpkin selects a snack from the cabinet.

English and Continental Chocolates’ cornucopia includes a number of witches of which Burley would be proud.

Living up to the outlet’s name White Stuff displayed an albino pumpkin.

The Save The Children shop favoured horror.

Across the road Lounges Coffee Shop and Rose Garden Craftsstruck a lower key.

This crafted pumpkin is in drydock.

It is probably appropriate that The Gilded Teapot’s window should show falling leaves.

In common with a number of our towns and villages, Lymington remembers those souls who never came back from Flanders, by fixing a poppy to each lamp post.

It wasn’t until I cropped and enlarged the two images that I realised that I had photographed Rahul, one of the delightful Lal Quilla waiters. He is on the left, speaking on his mobile phone. On his way back down the hill a little later he stopped for a chat, neither of us being aware that I had immortalised him. I will make some prints for our next visit to the restaurant.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy chilli con carne with wild rice and peas. I drank more of the Fronton.

Your Choice

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This morning, including material from ‘Oiling The Lion’, and from ‘The Hornby Train Set’, I continued writing ‘A Knight’s Tale’.

This afternoon, Jackie drove me to Lymington to visit the bank. This is now the nearest NatWest branch remaining open. My chauffeur parked outside and I joined a small queue. We spent quite some time listening to the lone cashier negotiating with a woman about whether or not she should withdraw £10 before Saturday. The problem was compounded by another woman having difficulty in operating the rapid deposit machine. Eventually it was my turn to be attended to. I needed to order some Australian dollars to send to Orlaith for her fifth birthday. This involved putting my bank card into a machine. It was then that I was informed that I was in Lloyd’s Bank and that NatWest was next door. I turned and entered the next building. All went smoothly after that.

We continued on to a forest drive.

At Brockenhurst, grazing ponies,

leisurely cyclists,

and eager walkers,

some with dogs, enjoyed the late afternoon sun

that lit the autumn leaves,

and was a little lower by the time we reached Rhinefield Ornamental Drive, and stretched even longer shadows.

A group of ponies hovered on one verge, contemplating crossing to the other side.

trees stretched over

streams that flowed under the road, and, like Narcissus, admired their reflections.

In photographing the forest scenes I occupied myself deciding whether to offer images in colour

or to convert them to black and white.

For this image, colour,

or black and white? It is your choice.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chilli con carne with peas and rice. I drank Arboresque Fronton 2016.

Waste Not……..

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Although I didn’t have to grapple with the mortgage issue until late this afternoon, I’ll deal with it first to get it out of the way. The latest nonsense is that, after almost a month of procrastination and prevarication on behalf of the solicitors in the case, we learned two days ago that one of our documents must be signed in face to face contact with a solicitor acceptable to the lender. The firm that the building society originally approved is in Manchester. We were not prepared to travel up there for a ten minute encounter. Our independent adviser found one in Southampton who withdrew today on the grounds of sickness. Jackie and I will have to trail around tomorrow to find another prepared to witness our signatures.

Happily ignorant of this, we began the wet and rainy day taking the bags of garden refuse to the dump, then drove on to MacPenny’s garden centre in Bransgore, where I wandered around the garden while Jackie plundered the plant sales and waited for me in The Robin’s Nest cafe.

Autumn has applied its rosy tints to many of the potted shrubs on offer.

Being the only person daft enough to enter their garden on such a day, I had it to myself. This giant hosta gave me a gleaming greeting.

The dismal weather could not deter the shrubbery from doing its cheery best to brighten the day.

Cyclamen,

fuchsia,

and this flower I cannot identify, splashed colour around. Susan Rushton, in her comment below, has suggested this: ‘The mystery flower looks like hesperantha coccinea.’.

Hydrangeas were a little more muted.

Almost fluorescent green moss coated tree roots;

small ferns punctuated log steps beside which asters, or Michaelmas daisies, clustered; splendid Pampas grass perched on a terraced bank.

Other logged steps were deep in shade;

where William was laid to rest.

A few trees were in the process of shedding their leaves; some clinging stubbornly on;

others decorated damp sward.

Winding paths are already being carpeted.

A loosely coiled hosepipe lay dormant.

Eventually the rain increased and drove me inside where we enjoyed good quality brunches before returning home.

Regular readers will know that it is rare for us to leave the recycling centre ( the dump), without making a purchase from the sales area. Today, Jackie bought a child’s multi story car park for the use of grandchildren and great nephews.

Someone had tossed apples along with branches into the green refuse container. They were rescued and brought home with bags of bulbs from MacPenny’s. As the saying goes, ‘waste not, want not’.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s exquisite beef and mushroom pie; tasty gravy; new potatoes; and crisp carrots and cabbage; followed, of course, by stewed apples and vanilla ice-cream. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the malbec.

Emma Would Have Been Under Water

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When I was awaiting my hip replacement in 2009, my GP offered the opinion that I would never have a blood pressure problem. I wonder what she would have thought about my performance on the telephone today, much of which was again spent in frustrating negotiations about the mortgage. We were just about to set off with two full orange bags of clippings for the dump, when I learned that I had to make yet another call before we could be under way. I made the call. We then arrived at the dump just after it had closed.

A trip to the forest was in order.

Only a few specimen trees were beginning to change into their autumn robes. The others still retained their summer garb.

Smoky indigo clouds swirled over the moors,

the sun only periodically piercing their cover,

and lighting up the ponies,

cattle,

and donkeys wandering about East Boldre,

where a woman had stopped her car and unloaded boxes of apples for their delectation.

Tanner’s Lane beach was awash with the highest tide we had ever seen there. As we contemplated this we reflected that, had this been today, Emma might have been under water.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef and mushroom pie; sautéed potatoes, carrots, and Brussels sprouts; and broccoli al dente. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank an excellent Finca Flichman reserve malbec 2015, given to me by Helen and Bill for my birthday.

Leaves On The Water

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We just had time this morning to transport the contents of two orange bags of clippings to Efford Recycling Centre before steady rain descended for the rest of the day. After a trip to Sears barbers in Milford on Sea for Peter to cut my hair, I scanned the next dozen colour slides from November 2004. One image wasn’t really good enough, so I deleted it.

Mepham Street SE1 stands beneath the main entrance of Waterloo Station. The BFI IMAX cinema that towers above the railway is described thus by Wikipedia:

The BFI IMAX is an IMAX cinema in the South Bank district of London, just north of Waterloo station. It is owned by the British Film Institute and since July 2012 has been operated by Odeon Cinemas.^[1]

The cinema is located in the centre of a roundabout junction with Waterloo Road to the south-east, Stamford Street to the north-east, York Road to the south-west and Waterloo Bridge to the north-west.

The BFI IMAX was designed by Bryan Avery of Avery Associates Architects^[2] and completed in May 1999. The screen is the largest in Britain (20m high and 26m wide). It has a seating capacity of just under 500 and a 12,000 Watt digital surround sound system. Although the site is surrounded by traffic and has an underground line just four metres below, the architects and engineers accounted for this in their design and the entire upper structure sits on anti vibration bearings to prevent noise propagation.

The cinema won several awards at the time of opening, including a Design Council Millennium Product Award^[3] in 1999 and a Civic Trust Award in 2000.^[4]

In 2012, the screen was replaced and a digital IMAX projector was installed alongside the existing 70mm projector. In July 2012, the BFI announced that Odeon Cinemas had been selected to operate it for the next five years, with the option of termination after three years. Odeon will maintain the film programmes, and booking of tickets online and per telephone. This also gives customers the opportunity to watch Operas on the giant screen. The BFI will retain a great deal of power over the cinema’s operation however, including parts of the film schedule and the technical operation.^[5] The name will remain the same.

To start this move to mainstream cinema, the BFI London IMAX theatre celebrated by having sold 66,000 pre-booked tickets for The Dark Knight Rises in just 5 weeks, giving a total sale in tickets of £1,000,000 even before the premiere of the movie.’

Perhaps it is a little early to discover whether the five year contract has been renewed.

The Waterloo Station entrance is viewed here from Boyce Street SE1. In the early 20th century, the station was completely redesigned and rebuilt, reopening in 1922. The Victory Arch over the entrance commemorates World War I.

The redevelopment of Kings Cross, St Pancras, and their environs was under way in 2004, as shown in this picture of Midland Road NW1. Maybe the man in the hard hat has left the heavily craned background for a lunch break.

On the other side of Euston Road, at number 130, on the corner of Mabledon Place, stands the headquarters of the Public Service Union, the second largest in UK.

I often walked across Kingsway WC2 on my way to my consultancy work at Portugal Prints,

the entrance to which is shown here on the corner of St Clement’s Lane.

My route took me past Ship Tavern at the corner of Gate Street and Little Turnstile WC1. londonremembers.com tells us that ‘this tavern was established in the year 1549. During the proscription of the Roman Catholic religion it was used as a shelter for priests and services were held here secretly. The neighbourhood was once notorious for the gambling houses of Whetstone Park. Famous visitors have been Richard Penderell, who aided King Charles’s escape, Bayford, shoemaker and antiquarian. The woman Chevalier d’Eon, who lived as a man, and Smeaton the builder of the first Eddystone Lighthouse. It was a centre of Freemasonry and a Lodge with the number 234 was consecrated here by the Grand Master the Earl of Antrim in 1786.’ The hostelry was rebuilt in 1923.

When I photographed Whetstone Park a traffic warden was no doubt relishing writing out this parking ticket. Maybe someone got the wrong idea from the name of the street.

That little area led me to Lincoln’s Inn Fields and to the above-mentioned Portugal Prints.

The Dickens Tavern, on the corner of London Street and London Mews WC2, boasts of being London’s longest pub. It certainly goes on forever, possibly the whole length of the mews. It is, of course, not very wide.

I must have ventured onto the towpath of the Regent’s canal when taking one of these walks, because another photograph of leaves on the water has crept into this set.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, Garner’s pickled onions, and Tesco’s wallies, followed by strawberries and ice cream.

Food And Drink In The Same Location

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It really felt like a spring day as we drove out to the forest this morning.

Cyclists on Rhinefield Ornamental Drive 1

Cyclists on Rhinefield Ornamental Drive 2

A pair of cyclists led us along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive.

At intervals I left the car and photographed the forest scenes.

The usual amount of fallen trees festooned the floor. I have mentioned before, that, apart from some which is sold to be fashioned into something artistic or useful, the timber is left to rot where it falls, as an aid to ecology.

Some of the stumps in particular have disintegrated before our eyes during the few years we have lived here.

Even close to midday, the sun is still low enough in the sky to cast long shadows across the carpet of dry autumn leaves.

Last year’s bracken has not yet shrunk in the presence of Spring’s burgeoning coils.

Beyond Boldre an arrogant cock pheasant strutted erect through the heather.

Further on, a group of ponies were celebrating the fact that, courtesy of the recent rain their food and drink were both available at the same location.

An apparently dead tree would seem to have fallen into the water. Actually the water had fallen around the tree, beyond which the white pony guzzled the gorse.

On our return home we took our main meal of the day at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms. I chose steak and ale pie with short crust pastry, carrots, peas, and chips. Jackie’s pick was Stationmaster’s Rarebit. She drank cappuccino. I drank sparkling water.

The Three Graces

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It is not often one can be grateful for a traffic diversion, especially those in The New Forest which tend to send you miles out of your way. So it was this morning as Jackie drove us out there.

Had we not been sent all the way back to New Milton we would not have seen the sun mooning through the mist over Station Road.

The drip, drip, dripping of the melting frost was all there was to be heard in misty Gorley,

where the glassine stream stood still;

shaggy sheep cropped the grass;

arboreal forms emerged from the gloom;

a woman walked her carefully blended dog,

and a lime-green clad cyclist took his chances on the road to Linwood. In the foreground of this shot stands one of the many posts measuring water levels; in this instance of the stream pictured above.

Trees bedecked with flowers usually mark a spot where someone has died in a road accident. Maybe that is why this oak at the crossroads by the ford has been decorated with fleeting frost, with flowers past their best, with diced mushrooms, and with a clump of once potted bulbs.

Ponies in a field at Mockbeggar were so obscured as to be impossible to tell whether or not they were domesticated. One definitely wore a rug, as their winter garments are termed. This would not be a wild forest creature. Can you spot it?

It would have been equally difficult for the driver coming through Ibsley to have discerned the pony to the left of this picture, had it decided to turn and cross the road.

It was as the mist was beginning to clear on the approach to Frogham that we encountered a living modern sculpture based on Antonio Canova’s “The Three Graces”.

A chestnut gatecrashed the hay party those finely marbled greys were enjoying.

At Frogham the appearance of a stately stag was somewhat marred by the tangled encumbrance attached to his antlers. Perhaps he was aiming to snaffle the magnificent sloughed set protruding from the field ahead of him.

He was leading his family towards the herd sharing the land with a solitary pony.

As the mist began to clear on either side of Roger Penny Way on our return home, the warming sun caused another to rise from the moors,

and exposed a mid-distant group of houses.

This evening we dined on chicken Kiev; peppers stuffed with Jackie’s savoury rice; green beans, and spinach; followed by bread and Benecol pudding with evap. I finished the Madiran.

I Was Set Up

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Somewhat encouraged by the lack of adverse effects on my knackered knees after the long, flat, walk round Keyhaven and Lymington Nature Reserve, I decided to take the somewhat shorter, yet undulating, route through Honeylake Wood. At about halfway I ventured into the undergrowth, after which I turned back.

A pedestrian gate breaking a hedge serves as an entrance to the field leading to the wood.

The hedge was reflected in the muddy verge beside Christchurch Road.

A bent and aged oak on one edge of the field bowed beneath the prevailing wind,

which even around mid-day bit into me as I crossed to the wood.

On my way in the leafy path offered welcoming shelter,

while a sight of Downton’s cottages as I left it gave notice that home was near, if not in sight.

Often springy underfoot, the forest floor,

over which squirrels scampered,

was, especially near the stream, occasionally waterlogged.

The wind roared overhead. There was much evidence of broken trees,

and, although some autumn leaves had not yet reached the ground,

others glowed in the sunlight

which played among the trees.

The bridge had been so severely damaged as to deter anyone from leaning on the rickety rail; a sapling had been converted to an entrance arch.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic sausage casserole, creamy mashed potatoes, and crisp carrots, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts. I drank Basson Shiraz 2014. The others didn’t drink their Kronenbourg 1664 until afterwards so that didn’t count.

A minute particle of my casserole splashed up from my plate and onto my grandfather shirt. Jackie and Ian swooped on me to supplement the stains and Becky grabbed the camera. I was set up, I swear it.