bonfire – derrickjknight

More Smoke Than Fire

Possibly because the washing machine is currently in constant use the grey water is not leaching into the hidden soakaway in the garden as it should. Greg Mouland of Mouland Drainage visited this morning to have a look at it. The solution seems to be to insert a small channel to the near manhole where the overflow will join the drainage pipes from the kitchen.. He will fit this towards the end of the week.

We are still without a car, for which a part has been ordered and will be fitted as soon as possible.

This inspired Jackie over the last three days to make some inroads into the piles of soggy garden refuse for burning.

I spent a good deal of time today reediting two posts from Classic to Block:

A Sad Sign Of The Times

A Day Of Two Casseroles

The first of these has been recategorised as Garden.

This afternoon I took my share of attempts at incineration – more like uncontrolled smouldering in an old wheelbarrow.

This is what the piles for burning look like.

Once I had the initial burst instigated by one match and one fire lighter, we enjoyed

more smoke than fire.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie; tender runner beans; firm broccoli and carrots, with meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Smelling Smoke

Early this morning I optimistically joined Martin in the garden where he enjoyed rather more success than I did.

Despite Jackie’s popping out to replenish my diminishing supplies of firelighters I was unable to breathe life into the damp garden refuse which could not recover from several days of soaking.

Even the bench on which I rested collapsed beneath me.

Eventually I gave up trying and returned inside to nursing knees repeatedly bent in a lost cause, smelling pointless smoke, and ruing the tiny brown-rimmed hole in my shirt that one of the myriad of otherwise useless flaking sparks had managed to penetrate.

Martin, on the other hand, successfully continued his careful clearance of beds and surrounding paths;

and recycled some of the old patio paving as supplementary stepping stones through the Weeping Birch Bed.

My failure was compounded by being unable to access my site to draft this post until 5.30 p.m.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s tangy piri-piri lemon chicken and colourful savoury rice with which she drank Hoegarden and I drank more of the Coonawarra red wine.

Flamboyant

As so often, this morning, the few minutes during which I sought my camera, was sufficient to turn

the gorgeously glowing lambent flames of the dawn skies

into pale pastel pinks and indigos.

Later, Martin, lighting a bonfire in a rusty wheelbarrow, no longer fit for purpose, now serving as an incinerator

stood between the flickering kindling and the flamboyant foliage of creeping Virginia vine,

stoking the open furnace with

a week’s clippings.

Becky brought Flo, Dillon, and Ellie back from Eastbourne this afternoon, stayed a while, then returned to her own home.

This evening we dined on a Red Chilli takeaway meal with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Cariñena Monte Plogar Gran Reserva 2016. The young couple ate later.

Burning Garden Refuse

Today Nick applied first coats of paint to the Garden Room.

In the meantime, with minor assistance from me, Jackie burnt the garden refuse unsuitable for composting.

Later this afternoon Jackie and I took a short forest drive.

Along Forest Road a pair of ponies and foals set off into the shrubbery as I walked across to them with a camera round my neck.

Another foal clambered to its feet as I approached, and sought the comfort of its mother.

I spoke to the owner of a frisky spaniel and suggested that it might disturb the foals. He replied that she was a good girl and would not worry the ponies. I had to acknowledge that she was not doing so at the moment.

We stopped along Wilverley Road where I did not disturb another mother and baby.

A red postbox remains outside Postbox Cottage in Wootton Road. It has been decorated with a yarn crown to celebrate Queen Elizabeth II’s Platinum Jubilee.

This evening we all dined on Papa John’s pizzas, with which Jackie and Ian drank Hoegaarden, Becky drank Diet Coke, and I finished the Durif Shiraz, while Flo abstained.

From Moonrise To Sunset

While I scrapped more archived papers Jackie added them to continued burning of garden refuse this morning. As I had better luck uploading pictures today, I have used this one that I had given up on yesterday.

Richard and Alan fitted the doors to the entrance lobby and to the airing cupboard. The chest of drawers shown beside the airing cupboard is to go.

Early this afternoon Helen and Bill visited and enjoyed coffee and inspecting the work of Kitchen Makers.

Towards twilight we took a drive into the forest.

The moon rose to grace the pastel canopy over Paul’s Lane, Coombe Lane and the Burley Road from Norleywood. A murder of crows assembled on telegraph wires, and trees wore their autumn clothing.

We were back home in time for sunset.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, pickled onions and chilli cornichons with which we both drank Val di Salis Chardonnay 2020.

Car Park Conversation

We have a popular adage that asserts that all accidents come in threes. So it is with cafetière glasses. We keep spares for the large one that dispenses our morning coffee. Two have been broken in the last month. That left one. This afternoon we therefore visited the Christchurch Sainsbury’s to maintain our reserves. Jackie was successful in this purchase and bought a few more items while she was at it. This left me in the car without a book. After a while a piercing voice penetrated the fifty yards or so between me and its owner. Phrases like “blue smoke”, “three times”, “I was in Social Services”, and “I went into lots of houses” reached me quite easily.

That held my attention for quite some time. The patient listener eventually managed to unload his trolley and make his way across the car park to return it to its stand. The picture showing part of a white head does not feature the capped head that had stopped him and continued to talk and no doubt gesticulate. Even when the victim did escape the orator continued from a distance. Eventually the shopper reached the security of his car and the other man wandered away.

Just after Jackie returned to the car a heavy shower set in. I was quite grateful that it had not curtailed my entertainment.

We then took a drive through the rain,

which paused for me to photograph landscapes looking down from Braggers Lane.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage, liver, and Bacon casserole; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Réserve de Bpnpas Cotes du Rhone 2019.

“The Smell Of Autumn”

Today was pleasantly temperate. We took an early drive into the forest where the wider roads are often crossed by hoofed animals who make the own tracks into the woodland.

We stopped at the junction between Crow Hill and Charles’s Lane for me to photograph examples.

The track forks with one tine running alongside Charles’s Lane

and the other crossing it to

continue beside Crow Hill.

Serendipitously, as I was making this record, a young equestrienne left the hill, crossed the lane,

and continued on down the slope. The horseshoe in this picture will be leaving its own print in the dusty soil;

the cloven , heart-shaped, depression in this will have been left by one of the string of cattle who are the real sappers of this terrain.

A couple of keen, fit, cyclists who stopped at this junction struggled to find a cycle track with the aid of their modern device. I offered them an example of old technology in the the form of an Ordnance Survey map. The woman said she preferred old technology, perused and returned it once they had established that they would probably need to continue on the road for a while. The gentleman recently cycled from Land’s End to John O’ Groats with a companion who had received two knee replacements three years ago. I suppose this should have been somewhat encouraging.

The first of these samples of verge detritus was photographed on the edge of Crow Hill, the second at Ibsley,

perhaps stamped on by an angry cow.

Outside Burley a group gathered beside a pony being fed by a young girl. At one point the animal turned away from the hand that the young lady extended, but later thought better of it.

“The smell of autumn”, fondly uttered Jackie as the scent of oak smoke from burning branches drifted into our nostrils.

We followed a splendid veteran car through Ibsley. The driver indicated that we should pass him. We waited on ahead so I could photograph him from the front. He turned off into a side road. Perhaps there cannot be too many happy accidents in one day.

We enjoyed a late breakfast at Hockey’s Farm shop in South Gorley.

A pair of young donkeys, showing signs of moulting, stopped for a snack in the middle of the road outside.

This afternoon Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating visited to check on our central heating problem. He diagnosed a drop in pressure resulting from a hidden leak in the system. He applied two cans of stuff designed to seek out and seal it.

This afternoon, Jackie gave the lavender in the Rose Garden a good haircut. She was not alone. “Where’s Nugget?” (10)

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent beef in red wine; creamy mashed potato; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and tender runner beans I picked earlier. The Culinary Queen drank Blue Moon and I drank Tesco’s finest Western Cape Malbec 2017.

The Angel And Blue Pig Inn

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED

Work starts early in the morning in the razed North Breeze garden. In preparation for the rear extension, soil has been dug out from the area behind the house. Presumably the digger is levelling off the heap. The fire is now concentrating on rubbish from indoors. We have a view across the pub car park to the fields beyond that the jungle has previously hidden from sight.

This is our garden from the same viewpoint. The blurred effects are from sunspots, not smoke.

Mark, who has bought the house, has given Jackie this pedestal from the lounge. He thought she might be able to put something nice on it. He wasn’t far wrong.

Having taken two more orange bags of garden refuse to the dump we drove on to Lymington to the Register Office seeking an appointment for a marriage. This, the website informed us, was situated at

Lymington Library.

What the website did not inform us was that appointments could only be made on line or on the telephone. There was nothing outside the library to confirm the location, but we found this at the back of the building. A very helpful librarian peered through the registrar’s office window and encouraged us to wait outside the room and nab her when she had finished with the people she was interviewing. This didn’t seem a particularly hopeful possibility, so we sat outside the small chamber and when I had managed to obtain a signal, I made a call to the general office. Naturally all the staff were busy and I had to listen to repeated messages telling me I could do this on line. Eventually another very cooperative young lady took me through what we had to do to progress to the next stage, which would probably take two months. Then we would be given an appointment time. I’m sure the whole business was much more straightforward in 1968 when we enjoyed our first wedding.

Did I mention that Jackie’s ancient laptop died this morning? I thought not. This meant that our next visit was to Peacock Computers where Max, the sales person, was not available until 2.00 p.m. This left an hour and a half to kill.

We wandered down the High Street,

passing visitors clutching car keys, ice creams, and mobile phones;

and watching groups with pushchairs eagerly awaiting their chance to cross the busy road that mostly became clear when vehicles held each other up.

Our goal was

The Angel & Blue Pig Inn, where we enjoyed excellent lunches.

The i New Forest website informs us that ‘Since the 13th century the Angel Inn has welcomed weary travellers. It is notorious with tales of smuggling and in the 18th Century Lymington like much of the south coast was rife with the ‘Free Trade’. There was a tunnel running under Lymington High Street to a smaller inn opposite and from there it proceed down the hill to the water. Smugglers could then haul their brandy, silk and spices without catching the eye of the customs men.

The Angel also has a spooky reputation. Allegedly one of the most haunted hotels in Britain. Up to 6 ghosts including a coach driver, naval officer and a phantom blonde have been seen on the premises.’

The building was refurbished in 2013.

We ate outside, where we attempted to converse with the archetypal lapdog which took vociferous exception to me when it turned around.

A pair of iron pigs kept us company,

while a couple of cherubs, one coy, and the other sleeping, watched over us. At least, they would have done had they opened their eyes. Whoever modelled the sleeper certainly knows how baby boys are wont to crouch in their slumbers.

Another pig was suspended from a makeshift gibbet.

Most customers preferred the small garden area, but a few found the dimmer inside more comfortable.

My main meal consisted of wonderfully fresh fish and triple cooked chips with mushy peas and tartare sauce; Jackie chose salmon and haddock fish cakes and salad. We both enjoyed treacle tart with orange-flecked ice cream for dessert. I drank Ringwood bitter while Jackie drank Amstel.

That takes care of my customary culinary coda, so I will sign off after reporting that a satisfactory meeting with Max resulted in our ordering a new laptop for Jackie.

Donkeys and Ice Cream

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When we arrived home from Elizabeth’s late yesterday afternoon, the house was very smoky, and the garden full of ash, all emanating from a bonfire in the North Breeze garden, which had been almost razed to the ground. The jungle is no more.

Much rain in the night freshened up our garden,

but had not put out the fire which was added to today.

Some parts of our plot and its contents, like these dahlias, still saw the sun,

but mostly it remained befogged.

Elizabeth, Danni, and my great nephew Jasper, came to lunch, after which we drove in convoy to Hatchet Pond.

Jasper and his Gee-ma investigated the lapping wavelets at the edge of the water.

A woman handed the little lad a bag of prawn crackers with which to feed the water birds. As I said, you always receive too many of this freebies with a Chinese takeaway meal. Jasper wasn’t all that interested, so Danni decided to feed them to

the hastily arriving donkeys, one of which was really very young.

She began with a medium-sized one,

which was head-butted away by the largest creature.

This animal was so aggressive that the crackers were soon chucked on the ground.

Leaving Jackie on a bench, the rest of us walked to the far end of the pond, past the water lilies,

and others seated in the sun,

in search of ice cream.

Elizabeth clutched wipes for protection against her grandson’s drips,

occasionally licking her lips in anticipation.

Eventually she was handed the melting cone.

After this, the aggressive donkey rested its muzzle on my lap.

We dined on Mr Pinks’s fish and chips, gherkins, and pickled onions. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, while Elizabeth and I finished the Douro.

Danni has just e-mailed me our selfie on the bench.

Before And After: The Back Drive

A good part of the day, until I set the incinerator going at 4 p.m., was spent in selecting and printing the next section of the garden development album.

If there was any task more daunting than anything else in the Old Post House garden, it was the back drive.

This is what it looked like on 14th June 2014. An extremely careful examination of the picture will reveal Jackie at the far end embarking on spraying herbicide. After about a metre this was abandoned. The gate in the foreground didn’t fit and was roughly attached to a rickety makeshift fence.

Nine days later the main burning pile, which will be featured later, had encroached onto this area and the old wheelbarrow that was to hold the pyre, had been put in place. The barrow itself stands on a few inches of soil forming a shallow raised bed on which vegetables had been grown. A ring of granite sets held this in place. There were several such booby traps lying about. The panels leaning on the new fence are, we think, part of what was described in the inventory as ‘greenhouse, unassembled’. further down, the older fence has been pushed over by the neighbours’ firs.

By 21st July, further encroachment made combustion seem an impossible task.

Thick brambles attacked from both sides, rooting freely in the earth strewn gravel. This one was lopped on 28th July, because It kept clawing my head.

By 19th September we had made some little headway on weeding, but were still burning branches, many of which, of course had come from other parts of the garden.

Two days later, felt we were getting somewhere. This was the scene at 10 a.m. when we began taking out the shrubbery and trees growing up the side of our neighbours’ house;

and this at 1.30 p.m.

Another four days and Jackie had made considerable progress in keeping the invasive firs in their rightful place;

and by 1st October we had begun defining the entrance, making yet more use of the excavated concrete slabs.

In the new year it became apparent to us that we were definitely in need of help. I reluctantly had to admit that there was a limit to what we could manage alone. By 21st February 2015 we had had the good fortune to engage Aaron of A.P. Maintenance. As I told him today he has had a far bigger impact on what we have achieved than by his work alone. Here he is digging out a clump of ornamental grass which I couldn’t lift. We now call this plant ‘the Phoenix’, because it resisted all attempts at destruction, including burning. It flourishes in Elizabeth’s Bed.

Aaron only visits on Sundays, but this is the progress he had made by 8th March, in levelling of the soil, much of which was transferred to the rose garden, and edging the right hand border with found bricks. Jackie and I had pruned the griselinia hedging which has been allowed to become an avenue of tall trees.

On 5th April, Jackie was able to use the strip for its intended purpose. On the left hand side, Aaron has used the granite sets for edging.

Three weeks later, he and Robin had covered the drive with most of the gravel.

This was completed on 10th May, after Aaron had cemented a retaining bar outside the entrance.

By 11th October the drive was in full use. Jackie has lined both sides with flower beds. No doubt I’ll have to tackle the fallen leaves soon.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chicken jalfrezi, special fried rice, vegetable samosas, and onion bhajis. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank another glass of malbec.