bridge – Page 3 – derrickjknight

No More Shell Building

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As usual when I travel to London, Waterloo, Jackie drove me to and from New Milton today. Apart from the fact that the ticket office was closed because the system wasn’t working, and I held up the queue for the machine on the platform because I didn’t know how to use it, the journey was uneventful.

When I last took today’s walk from Waterloo Station, across Westminster Bridge to Carol’s home off Victoria Street, I would have crossed York Road by footbridge from the station concourse. This was not possible today. The bridge was closed and we had to walk down steps on the station side, and along the road until reaching the County Hall corner before we could cross.

A great, gaping hole appeared where the Shell Building, a landmark as long as I can remember, had stood when I made the trip a year ago.

This is to become a South Bank Development of ‘exceptionally stylish apartments’. Apparently people are already queuing up to acquire them although prices have not yet been fixed.

Around the corner, on the approach to The London Eye, I noticed two men in hard hats sitting against the background of building works.

As I came nearer, one of the very friendly men held up warning hands to ensure that I did not, without a hard hat, enter the site. The other gentleman came over to me and we had a pleasant conversation during which he suggested I might prefer to be photographing the New Forest.

I then shot the scene without the workers.

Once on Westminster Bridge I was reminded how difficult it is to negotiate that thoroughfare during the tourist season.

The piper, however, was given some breathing space.

An assiduous road sweeper kept the area around Parliament Square suitably tidy. The Plane tree around which he had just wielded his brush, was bursting into leaf,

as were those in an unusually quiet Victoria Street,

and outside St Stephen’s Church, Rochester Row.

I didn’t note the name of the excellent Italian restaurant in that street where Carol and I enjoyed each other’s company over a superb meal. My choice was a tortellini and clear chicken stock soup followed by sea food risotto. We both chose creme brûlée. I drank Friuli sauvignon.

I returned to Waterloo on the 507 bus, from which I gained a clear view of Lambeth Palace.

P.S. Perusal of the comments by Paul and Geoff below, will show that the title and the inference of this post is only partially correct. The main tower remains. It is just the lower levels that have been removed.

Flytipping In Honeylake Wood

Vince, a heating engineer had visited a few days ago to overhaul our oil fired system that has never adequately functioned upstairs since we have been here. He got it going properly for the first time, but discovered that a hose had not been fitted to the boiler, a part of which was not functioning anyway. Today he came to fit the offending item.

Jackie drove off to Mat and Tess’s and I stayed in for Vince.

This afternoon I booked the Modus in for an M.O.T. test and walked on through the woods repeating the trip I had taken recently with Giles, who informed me that our local wood rejoices in the name of Honeylake Wood.

Even in the slight breeze and the shelter of the cooler trees I had no need of a jacket. Fiercer winds have left their impact on the lie of the oaks.

From the beckoning entrance at the far side of the field on Christchurch Road,

the woodland drops in a gentle incline to the stream,

then climbs to level off before reaching the road to Milford on Sea.

There is just one public footpath. The others are marked private.

The occasional startled pheasant squawked, rose from a covert, and lumbered, chuntering, off; a few feet in the air. Despite their slowness, I didn’t manage to catch one.

A pile of builder’s rubbish that had been left in the undergrowth when Giles and I passed this way has been tidied and moved to the side of the vehicle-wide path, no doubt for subsequent removal.

Having enjoyed a plentiful chicken and ham pie, corned beef, and salad lunch, I dined on egg and bacon sandwiches.

Elizabeth Chose Her Moment

4th April 2014
Refreshed after the first good night’s sleep I have enjoyed in weeks, I went on an exploratory walkabout this morning.
Setting off down Downton Lane towards the sea with what I think was the Isle of Wight visible in the distance, I took a footpath leading across a field to the right. I then followed a left turn along another with a ploughed field on the left and a wooded area to the right.

As I passed a couple of Countryside Watch signs, I hoped I didn’t look too suspicious.
I leaned on a bridge across a gently flowing stream, and, as I walked away, I noticed a deposit on the palm of my hand, indicating that a bird had been there before me.
This track led me to a narrow winding road on the other side of which was Taddiford Gap car park. The road was quite busy, and therefore rather dicey to negotiate. I was consequently relieved to see another footpath to the right just past Taddiford Farm. I took it. It led through woods and, like the curate’s egg, was good in parts. It others it was a bit muddy. I crossed what I hoped was the same stream I had encountered earlier. It was, and led me to Christchurch Road opposite a rape field I had seen before from a distance, and within sight of our house.
Back home I tackled some phone calls. Today was the date of the activation of our landline and broadband. BT’s letter indicated that this could happen at any time up to midnight. I phoned a very helpful woman called Gaynor who told me the engineers were working on it. She put my mind at rest on the question of the hub working through floorboards. Apparently hers does. I had been invited to take part in a customer survey to which I had agreed. When the call about that came later, I was asked how easy or difficult it had been to obtain the help I required. I had a choice of 1 to 3 to press. Having been happy, I pressed 1 as required. The message was repeated. Three times. After which I gave up.
Pippa at Spencers had told us she could provide us with names and phone numbers of suitable people to carry out practical tasks. Since we were still getting nowhere with our Neff hobs and the Logik built-in multifunctional oven hasn’t been built in anywhere, I obtained a name from her of a man who would be able to deal with both of these and fit the washing machine. I left him a message.
Jackie worked on cleaning and sorting the kitchen whilst I cleared more space around the washing machine. This led to a major blitz on the garage. The shelf above the plumbing for the machine contained a sand-tray once, no doubt, used for potting plants, now a spawning ground for spiders, the white clusters of whose eggs lined the crevices. One heavily pregnant creature staggered away seeking shelter underneath. Having noticed the handle of a small shovel protruding from beneath garden shrubbery, I thought this might be useful for collecting up the sand. Upon extracting it I discovered it had been used for clearing up after an elderly dog. The morning’s guano was far more attractive.
On a roll, I then decided to drag out a rolled-up carpet Michael had given us. This would enable me to place some boxes of books under the shelves. However I had to reach the relevant end to tug, and clear various items lain upon it. My way was blocked by the legs of a desk balanced on top of the Safe Store book containers. It wouldn’t budge. This was because a box of books was wedged underneath it. I pulled the whole structure towards me, intending to lean the desk against the garage doors whilst I extracted the now seriously maimed box, spilling as few of its contents as possible. Elizabeth chose that moment to telephone me. Now propping myself against the desk teetering on the boxes, I fished in my pocket for my mobile phone and we had a pleasant conversation. After speaking to my sister, I completed the task and came in for lunch.

Having freed the desk, I had to find a home for it. It had always been my intention to have an office in the hall, but it was full of assorted belongings. so we cleared that, which, of course meant cluttering up other places. Never mind, it was a job well done. For there, in the middle of the wall under the bay window, just where I would have wanted it, was a lovely telephone point. Not so quirky after all.
I retrieved the home hub and telephone from the bedroom, and set it up in my now established office, this time with my iMac attached. Now all there was to do was to await the connection by BT. Then there was a shriek from Jackie. We had no electricity. The loss of power coincided with her having turned off the hobs at the wall. Fortunately we had found the fuse box. One fuse had tripped. I turned it back on. Not only did we have light and power, but the child lock had disappeared. And we had broadband. Magic.
Coincidentally, my on-line friend Jane, had sent an e-mail telling us that turning off the hobs at the wall would free the lock.
The bad news about the hobs is that they work by induction which means the pans used with them must be magnetic, so, until we buy some more suitable ones Jackie will be forced to use my heavy iron pots.
We dined this evening on microwaved fish pie and mushy peas, with which I drank Isla Negra reserva Cabernet Sauvignon 2012.

‘

On 11th May I described Imogen’s continuation of the Easter egg hunt. Once she had reprised the hunt several times, she forgot where she’d hidden all the little chocolate rabbits. Jackie found another one this morning.

We ventured on another property window shop today. The first option, at Cadnam, was within walking distance for me, so I set off earlier than Jackie who drove there to meet me. This involved me walking along the A337, which, by virtue of the trees all being in leaf; the verges being covered in summer growth; and wide caravans being driven along the road that has no footpath, is getting pretty dicey for a pedestrian. I decided to take a chance across country at the first opportunity. This was the grounds of Cadnam Cricket Club that could be entered by crossing a cattle grid. The rest of this A road as far as the Cadnam roundabout is fenced off from the forest in order to prevent ponies from straying on to it. It is one thing for them to take possession of the lanes and minor roads, quite another for them to exercise their right of way on major ones.

Where a youthful forest pony cannot pass, a human septuagenarian would best not try. So, leaving the cricket club area I set off into uncharted waters. There was no slip of the keyboard there. Waters it was. Boggy streams criss-crossed the terrain. I was, however, encouraged by a makeshift wooden bridge over one, and pursued the route. Miraculously it bore my weight. The land was a bit boggy, and there were no more bridges, but I did come to an old established footpath that left the line of the road and took its own diagonal off to the right. I was aiming for a property on Romsey Road, which was one of the turnings off the Cadnam roundabout. I figured that this path might just bring me to somewhere on that road and all I would have to do is turn left or right. As everyone knows, I can always be relied upon to guess the correct choice.

A jogger approached me and, without causing him to break his stride, I asked him if I was headed for Romsey Road. ‘I don’t know, I’m not from around here’, was his easy breathing reply. Isn’t that always the way? Soon I could see a road ahead with an optimistic number of cars on it. Old Cross Road at the end of my path took me to what could possibly be Romsey Road. On the other hand………

I crossed the road and enquired at the Cadnam Conservative Centre, to learn that I was in Southampton Road. Ah…… All, however, was not lost. I could see the roundabout on my left. It was but a short distance to my landmark and Romsey Road. All in all, I’d say that was a result. I’d like to claim that it was a little more than sheer good fortune. But I don’t suppose anyone would believe me.

Jackie drove into The White Hart car park as I reached it, then we motored on to the dwelling we wished to see. As always she had walked the walk on the internet and knew that the house was opposite Fran’s Flowers.

A few day’s ago Helen Eale’s posted a photograph of a menu board exemplifying the phenomenon of the wandering apostrophe. Its a problem thats always intrigued me, too. As we tried to park, avoiding Frans dropped kerb, we noticed a beautifully painted sign advertising the establishments ware’s. Jackie felt it needed a bit of amendment, and suggested a nocturnal visit to remove jams punctuation mark. Especially as the handmade sign’s to the left of the professional board, and some of the other produce on that advertisement displayed a certain lack of consistency, I favoured sneaking along with red and white paint and a black permanent marker to make the necessary addition’s.

Having torn ourselves away from this little diversion, we had a look at the house opposite. Unfortunately the estate agent had forgotten to mention that it was faced by a large static caravan, and the photographer had, of course positioned him- or herself so as to ensure that no prospective buyer could imagine that that would be thrown in.

Our next visit was to Bransgore and 93 Burley Road. This is a rather old thatched cottage that from the outside looks pretty attractive. Bransgore is a large village with all the necessary amenities and set in the heart of the forest. Having ogled that, we went on to Sopley for lunch at The Woolpack. Certain visible changes and a notice at the bar informed us that there has been a change of ownership. So, sisters and brothers-in-law, if you have any wine vouchers, you can recycle them, for they are no longer legal tender in The Woolpack. The previous owners had encouraged customers to save tokens for conversion into wine with a meal. Any that have been hoarded are, like Sainsbury’s money off vouchers after a couple of days, obsolete. ‘For the time being’, according to our barmaid, the food will remain unchanged. The chef is still there.

I enjoyed a steak, mushroom, and Guinness pie with chips and vegetables. Jackie’s choice was the gammon steak with egg, pineapple, chips and salad. I drank Doom Bar, she drank Stella. A light salad, accompanied in my case by Piccini chianti riserva 2009, and in Jackie’s by Hoegaarden completed our day’s sustenance in the evening.

P.S.: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-39459831?SThisFB