beach huts – derrickjknight

Almost Empty

What is the best way to make a trip to the pharmacy exciting?

During pandemic lockdown it is when this is considered an essential journey and petrol has remained in the tank for weeks.

Off we went this morning to Milford on Sea for that heady pleasure. The establishment’s door was open. Just inside stood a table on which the pre-ordered products were placed by the friendly staff for the masked and gloved Jackie to pick up. There were no other customers behind whom to queue.

I had hoped to walk along the clifftop on the way home, but there was nowhere to park so I settled for the occasional stoppage along a largely deserted road.

For fear of an influx of campers and city dwellers escaping infested metropolises The New Forest District Council along with many others of beauty spots has

sealed off entrances to the forest and beaches like those at Milford and Barton.

Here, a facility in which spaces would be at a premium in such spring sunshine was occupied by one single seated pedestrian.

A locked children’s playground’s attractions stood idle.

Promenades were almost deserted;

this desultory hound appeared to be struggling to keep up.

Hazy spray beset the Isle of Wight and The Needles;

waves and spray also beset this side of the Solent,

where beach huts, replaced after the devastation of the storms of February 2014, stood locked.in isolation.

A solitary figure sat in contemplation on staggered steps;

three walkers passed a woman in the process of emptying her pooch.

Turning into Downton Lane we observed a tractor toiling in Roger Cobb’s sun-kissed field.

While Nugget briefly visited his feeder, Burt entertained us with his trapeze act this evening as we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable soup with crusty sourdough bread, followed by mixed fruit crumble and custard. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I continued with the Valreas.

The Chase

Today, albeit cool, was bright and sunny throughout.

Jackie, once again this morning, found basic items in short or absent supply in the shops. Without compunction she acquired the last two bottles of Hoegaarden.

This afternoon we went for a drive in the forest.

What is usually a fairly shallow pool on the road from Beaulieu to Lepe now laps at the trunks of the trees reflected in it.

We parked alongside the shallows outside Lepe beach looking across to

the Isle of Wight, against which

swept a speedy yacht.

We could see beach huts but didn’t know their location.

We did recognise the Red Funnel ferry on its departure.

Jackie photographed me photographing the Island.

Brent geese gathered and engaged in

pairing up,

sometimes after enjoying the chase.

Ponies grazed at East End –

in the drying ditch,

among the daisies on the moorland,

and on the road ahead. Having hove into view, the cyclist in this last shot, as he passed me said he hoped he hadn’t spoiled that for me. “No,’ I replied, “you made it.”

One of the llamas further down the road basked in the late afternoon sun,

the other smirked in the shadows.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie; crisp carrots, cauliflower, broccoli; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Merlot.

Surfing For Fish

Jackie has a row of shells lined up on a low stone wall. This morning as she stepped into the garden to photograph

a pot of pansies underneath which are planted tulips she noticed that these shells have been tossed all over the place. This set her thinking that either the wind had wreaked havoc or that Eric the Pheasant who last year specialised in this wanton distribution had returned.

Sure enough, Eric was back.

Today’s weather was much brighter, albeit somewhat cooler. We drove to The Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff for a hearty brunch.

After our meal we each produced a set of photographs. As a gentleman I always allow the lady to go first, so there follows Jackie’s contribution:

She first pictured the bay, creating a panoramic view with the Isle of Wight in the distance.

Beach scenes with huts came next.

Unbeknown to me she lurked around the corner of the promenade and caught me snapping.

I was intrigued by the waves and spray breaking on the rocks and sliding along sand and shingle.

A lone fisherman, the sun glinting on his spectacles, kept a vigil throughout and after our meal. I am not aware that he caught anything,

which is more than can be said for a small surfing gull family.

Dogs are not permitted on the beach between May and October, but, at this time of the year their owners make hay. Some time after I took this set three loose alsatian-type dogs raced around the beach huts. They belonged to the gentleman in the red jacket – not me. At the end of a row of huts ascends a steepish slope still necessitating me holding the rail as I begin the climb back up to the car park. I was not best pleased when one of these creatures bounded round the bend and narrowly missed colliding with me. Unfortunately the owner was out of sight and I hadn’t the energy to seek him out.

Before I began that ascent I witnessed the progression of a stone-throwing apprenticeship. A little boy with a man I assumed to be his grandfather picked up quite a large missile which he

handed over to his companion who,

watched by the lad, chucked it into the waves.

The junior then gathered up smaller stones and, with unerring accuracy tossed them directly ahead into the spray.

He was well into his task as I departed.

This evening we dined on pepperoni pizza with plentiful fresh salad.

Well Worth The Effort

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE FOR ENLARGEMENT. REPEAT FOR FURTHER DETAIL
Regular readers may have noticed that it is some months since we enjoyed a brunch at The Beach Hut Café on the promenade at Friars Cliff. That is because I have been unable to make the trip down from the clifftop car park.

The first stage, from the car park, is reasonably level, but far enough for me at the moment.

The concrete rings have featured before. This plate explaining their purpose

is screwed to the rock to the right of this path bypassing the rings. The cyclist will slalom round the barriers down

the sloping footpath leading to the beach huts,

and the beach with its clear view of the Isle of Wight and The Needles.

The most difficult part of the descent for me was this very steep incline.

When I ran the fells in Cumbria I would much rather run up than down the slopes. And that was when my knees worked.

Having reached the promenade there is a straight, flat, section between the huts and the benches sited for those who wish to watch the waves;

taking us to the café, which was, as usual, full to bursting both inside and out, although the demography of the patrons is somewhat different from that in the school holidays. In fact, while Jackie joined the lengthy queue for service and I investigated the seating options, the only available possibility was sharing a picnic table with a friendly woman and her unobtrusive dog. Noticing my rather hopeless efforts at jackknifing myself into position, the kind lady offered to seek out a chair for me. She did so. I thanked her and sat down. Jackie then arrived to tell me that there was a free table inside. I thanked my new friend once more and took up a place inside. Shame, really.

The food was definitely well worth the effort. I couldn’t fit my plate containing two rounds of toast and marmalade into the shot.

After this, we had to retrace our steps. The rather bent elderly woman towing her shorn dulux dog kept up a pace neither of us had any hope of emulating.

Jackie had no trouble with the steep slope

but avoided the steps which were my preferred return route.

Our central heating has never really worked upstairs. Knowing weather was about to cool down, we asked Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating to sort out the radiators. He fixed a pressure problem and bled the radiators. A date was arranged for him to fit a new vent to one of them. The next day the boiler stopped working. Fortunately our shower is electric and we have an open fire and a kettle. We limped through until today when Ronan made an emergency visit. I won’t bore people with the technicalities, but we need a whole new system, which is what I expected in the first place. This will take 3/4 days, need bedroom floors taken up, and be expensive.
This evening we dined variously. Jackie chose Tesco’s pulled ham with mashed potato and carrots accompanied by Hoegaarden; my Tesco’s prepared dish was chicken jalfrezi; Elizabeth enjoyed the last of Jackie’s beef pie. My sister and I both drank more of the Pinot Noir.

“You Can’t Keep A Good Brit Down”

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED

This morning we drove to New Milton to buy Jackie a bag to carry her overnight stay requirements for our trip to Bicester tomorrow. We then continued to Friars Cliff where we brunched in the Beach Hut Café.

There are two rows of beach huts there – one on the promenade above the beach level, and the other further down. These colourful buildings brighten such areas.

This dog walker had probably made his way from Avon beach, curving away in the distance..

Long shadows were evident even just before midday.

A gull perched on a post catching what warmth there was from the sun piercing the clouds.

Dogs frolicked

and their owners

crossed each other’s paths

on the sand.

At one end of the lower level of beach huts

sat a couple of women, so well insulated from the chill air that Jackie cried “You can’t keep a good Brit down”, which they appreciated.

On the way home .we diverted to Mudeford

where gulls paddled in the shallows at low tide.

Of the several boats

tethered or grounded

in the harbour one was overturned.

Others fronted the moored yachts

and the quayside buildings.

Branches were spectacles on the sand.

On the sea front’,

having missed the boat that was stocking crabs on the van for Brixham,

hopeful

young starlings,

gathered

for possible treats;

they would have enjoyed the great slabs of Spanish omelette that Jackie conjured from the seemingly entire contents of a greengrocer’s stall bound by the massed clutches of multiple brooding hens. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the malbec.

Britain’s Most Expensive Beach Hut

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

The wind kept up this morning, but the rain did not return until this afternoon. The light changed by the minute.

As the sunshine came and went, I had to be patient to take this photograph of the front garden trellis which held solanum, roses, rose hips, petunias, lobelia, nasturtiums, and cotoneaster. Only the clematis and honeysuckle have faded from sight.

We took a trip to Highcliffe beach. A pair of dogs romped along the clifftop,

where the sign warning of crumbling cliffs will probably need to be moved further inland.

When checking on the parking fees, Jackie was greeted by a fairly faint rainbow.

A building worker shared his breakfast with the grateful gulls, and

the rainbow shifted in his direction.

Pools rippled in the car park, against which

the Isle of Wight and The Needles were virtually misted from sight.

One young man stood and watched the

choppy seas

and cloudy skies.

I only needed to turn my head inland to look down on walkers bathed in woodland sunshine;

and twist again for a view of the light on the coastline to my left

and the sight of a dog that probably didn’t belong to the surfboard carrier.

Leaving the scrub behind me,

Down steps

and slopes I descended

to the shore.

On the way down I watched a jogger and dog-walker pass each other.

The woman with the dog went on to cross paths with a couple on a lower level,

and a young lady gradually overhauled another pair, as they passed the Lifeguards’ hut.

Waves sprayed the breakwaters, and, unhindered,

rolled onto the shingle, now at my feet.

Across to my right was a clear view of Mudeford Spit and Sandbank leading to Hengistbury Head. The beach huts visible in this photograph cost as much as £275,000. That’s right. £275,000.

According to metro.co.uk this one went on the market in July this year for £280,000. The article informs us that:

‘For £280,000 you could buy a four-bedroom detached house in Huddersfield or two three-bed cottages with an acre of land in the village of Maerdy, South Wales.

The sandbank can only be accessed by a 20 minute walk, a ride on a novelty land train or by ferry but its isolated position is what gives it its exclusivity and value.

Beach hut owners have to share communal bathroom facilities and can only sleep in the huts between March and October, but can visit any time of year.

Britain’s most expensive beach hut goes on sale for a mere £280,000 — Worth a quarter of a million? BNPS

Hut 78 is in a handy location close to the ferry jetty and the communal facilities.

It looks out Christchurch Harbour where the new owners will be able to enjoy stunning sunsets.

The timber home measures 16ft 7in by 10ft 2in and comfortably sleeps four, with a double bed in a mezzanine level.

Solar panels on the roof power the fridge and lights, the cooker runs on bottled gas and there is a water tank that feeds into the kitchen sink.’

As I climbed back up to the car park, another couple of walkers greeted me and continued along their path.

I rejoined Jackie who drove us on to Barton on Sea. From there we were called back home in a hurry. We had been told by our mortgage lender to expect a call this morning from a surveyor coming to value the house. His call would be to arrange a viewing. He did call me. He was outside our house. He had been given a time to be there. We hadn’t.

I guided the gentleman round the house and garden. We then returned to New Milton for some shopping and banking, and brunched at Wendy’s excellent café. Then the rain came.

For dinner this evening Jackie produced a tasty fish pie, mashed potato, carrot and swede mash, and sautéed leeks, peppers, and green beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

On The Beach (3)

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

Jackie often points out potential subjects for photographs for which I take the credit. This morning she alerted me to an array of spiders’ webs on the decking.

All that was picked up by the sunshine on this example was the lower half of the larger web. Jackie held back a few shadow-casting leaves and I bent a bit to include the lower construction. This is what we jointly produced.

This morning we drove over to Shelly and Ron’s with enough of Jackie’s exquisite chicken Jalfrezi and vegetable samosas to feed up to 40 people at Ron’s 70th birthday party tomorrow. I also gave them a couple of 10″ x 8″ prints from Shelly’s party last week.

We continued on to Friar’s Cliff Café for brunch. naturally, I shot a few beach scenes.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iTCDWQXYlY&w=560&h=315]

Not that one.

These:

Against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight and the Needles, we have water activities including kayaking, rowing, yachting, paddle boarding, jet skiing, swimming, and paddling. There is lounging in the sand soaking up the sun, sheltering under parasols and behind windbreaks, turning cartwheels, digging with buckets and spades, kicking beach balls; occupying beach huts, enjoying green ice creams, and, of course, employing the screens of mobile phones.

This evening we dined on fish fingers, chips, onion rings, and fried tomatoes. I finished the Cotes du Rhone and Jackie had imbibed her Hoegaarden on the patio beforehand.

Sunshine And Showers (2)

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

Knowing that we were to expect heavy rain all weekend, and that the first hour or two this morning would offer sunshine and showers, we drove out to Mudeford seeking what light there was.

This proved to be interesting. The sun came and went, offering dramatic cloudscapes over the sea;

over the beach huts;

over the harbour;

and over the small town.

Recent downpours had left pools for cars to drive though.

Moored boats bobbed on the choppy wavelets in the sheltered waters,

over which sped a powered vessel.

A number of little rowing boats had filled with water

or capsized.

One, overturned, provided a resting place for juvenile gulls.

We felt sympathy for holidaymakers wrapped in waterproofs, and even more for the intrepid stallholders setting up for the weekend’s Art and Craft Fair.

Almost oblivious of the industry going on around them, a jogger,

a pair of dog walkers,

and a loving couple, continued about their business.

A heap of bright red paddle boards awaited rental customers.

The usual fishing paraphernalia lined the quayside. This couple examined

crab pots;

ropes and lines;

fluttering flags;

and buoys reflecting sunlight

or themselves mirrored in pools,

as were visitors following the first young lady forming a queue for the ferry.

Around the side of the quay the couple I had just passed gazed out to sea.

The most dramatic light of the visit fell on a group beside the car park.

As we left Mudeford for a late breakfast at Friar’s Cliff’s Beach Hut Café, three sail boats set out to sea.

They had made it safely to Friar’s Cliff by the time we reached there.

On the cliff top at Steamer Point lie three very large circular concrete bases.

Their story is now explained on an engraved metal plate fixed to a rock.

This evening we dined on chicken tikka and boiled egg salad. Well, we had had a large, late, fried breakfast. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the malbec.

The Mist Did Not Desist

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. THOSE IN GROUPS ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE.

This morning, the temperature having dropped ten degrees, we lit the fire.

Barry the sweep has said he will expect to see smoke from the chimney when he drives by. Set against a misty, overcast, sky, he will perhaps have difficulty seeing this today. Our mix of coal and logs produced a really powerful heat.

I bought the cast iron coal scuttle in a Newark antiques centre almost thirty years ago. I used it in my study to keep coal. I have been unable to verify the dealer’s implausible and certainly impractical claim that it was an antique Belgian commode. Jackie will now have to find something else in which to store her potatoes.

By mid-afternoon when we drove out to Mudeford, the mist had persisted.

We diverted to Highcliffe Castle en route, for some atmospheric shots.

Although visibility was greater in Mudeford harbour, boats and houses looked rather gloomy,

as did beach huts

and associated buildings.

Buoys rested on slate.

Highcliffe Sailing Club and the masts of its yachts were somewhat obscured.

Dripping gulls looked somewhat under the weather.

Fishing paraphernalia displayed muted colour,

as did a group of hardy visitors. The mist did not desist.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s excellent chicken jalfrezi and mushroom rice with onion bahjis. I drank Château Plessis grand vin de Bordeaux 2014.

We are now about to watch the Six Nations rugby match at Cardiff between Wales and Ireland to be televised by BBC.

Contrast

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. THOSE IN GROUPS GIVE ACCESS TO GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE.

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.