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Yesterday afternoon at Hockey’s Farm shop, a clutch of bantam chickens basked atop their coop.
Others, now identified by Bruce Goodman as Sussex, stabbed at a swinging cauliflower.
I trust they will forgive me for having forgotten them.
With winds at 57 miles an hour and more than 60 m.p.h. gusts, we were drawn to visit Milford on Sea this afternoon
for a look at the waves.
The Isle of Wight sailed along the horizon
beneath the sliver-lined clouds.
A couple walked along the renewed promenade above the replacement beach huts;
against the sides of which sea foam slapped and rolled up the steps to the beach.
A number of other photographers fought the winds
as they captured the blustery elements, or each other.
Jackie watched this elderly person leaning on the bench and taking in the sea air for quite some time. She thought the woman was enjoying the activity rather more than her younger companions.
This young man
enjoyed testing himself against the gusts;
a bedraggled dog hung its head;
and a couple struggled across the car park.
Some more sensible souls, operated their cameras from the safety of their cars.
This young woman laughed uproariously when I called her chicken.
Having an inkling that I might get a bit wet,
I leaned into the wind, spray lashing my face and my camera, and advanced to the sea wall as the waves came in from the Solent,
crashing over the wall
and me.
Soaked to the skin, I acknowledged that my friend in her car had really been very wise. This amused her even more. Back at home I changed into dry clothes.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s sublime lemon chicken; sautéed new potatoes, onions, and mange touts; and crunchy carrots and broccoli, with which I drank Ebeia Ribera del Duero 2015 from which Jackie abstained.