caterpillar – derrickjknight

Relaxed Restrictions

Late yesterday afternoon, beginning with

“Where’s Nugget?” (78), Jackie produced a series of photographs.

She was fascinated by the hairy borage

and a spiky caterpillar masquerading as a cactus.

Clematis Star of India occupies the wisteria arbour

through which is framed her favourite view of the garden. Left of centre, the Chilean lantern tree was lit by the evening sun.

Late this afternoon today, following the relaxed lockdown rules Jackie drove me to Bisterne Close along which I walked for 40 minutes before she picked me up and we returned home.

Unbeknown to each of us The Assistant Photographer and I focussed on the same subjects

Here we have tree fungus -Jackie’s

and mine.

To the right of this young female jogger stands a tree marked

for foresters’ attention, as in my photographs.

This would be too late for fallen (mine)

or broken (Jackie’s) trees.

One runner was exercising himself and his dog;

other people took a more leisurely pace.

I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with the friendly woman who kept the required distance from the runner and his pooch shown above.

There was much blooming rhododendron Ponticum along the lane.

Casting its shadow, a dark brown pony left a group ahead of me.

These wallowed in what, when we were last here, was a waterlogged verge.

Our final coincidental subject was the last of these ponies who, by the time Jackie approached was reaching for drier fodder.

We passed another pony on our way back along Bennetts Lane.

Golfers are now free to play on the Burley Course.

More ponies frequent the moors of Holmsley Passage.

This evening, along with her exquisite savoury rice, Jackie produced a variety of prawns: tempura; salt and pepper; and hot and spicy; and small vegetable spring rolls. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the El Zumbido Garnacha Syrah.

Escalating The Situation

With the aid of Elizabeth’s stick

I managed to walk the whole length of Downton Lane and back.

A cyclist passed me on the way down, and was himself

overtaken by a car.

As they approached the bend, round came another bicycle The pedallers made a neat vehicle sandwich and no harm was done.

Across neighbouring fields parked vans

could be seen. At any time of the year you will always see one carrying campers on this lay-by.

The road narrows and bends at the bridge over the

shallow stream now barely visible beneath the scrub. It is quite difficult for a pedestrian to hug the narrow verge, especially when not wishing to grasp the metal rail that someone else might have touched.

After leaving the bridge I passed this friendly young couple approaching it. They seemed to have understood the principle of social distancing in the time of Corvid.

On my return back up the hill I passed a comma butterfly enjoying a mud bath provided by

an underground stream irrigating the tarmac.

One border entrance to Shorefield Country Park appeared to be quite effectively closed.

While I followed a cock pheasant trotting up the lane (biggification will reveal him keeping to the right hand verge) I noticed the two young people holding a conversation in the distance. As I approached I rather expected them to move over a bit to let me pass.

When they shifted just a little to avoid a passing cyclist who had been forced onto the wrong side of the road, it became apparent that my assumption had been erroneous.

The standing couple stepped back again after the cyclist had gone. When I arrived I stood quietly in front of the vehicle, slightly to the right. It appears that I was invisible. Eventually I said “I don’t think you are giving me two metres to pass”. The pedestrians laughed, “It’s not funny”, I calmly announced. There were two women in the car. The driver cried “He’s my son. I haven’t seen him for a long time”. Raising my voice a little to make sure she heard me, I replied “I’ve seen him twice today. The first time I thought he’d got the idea, but clearly not”.

The driver started the engine and drove on as I stepped aside. The couple continued on up the hill. I called to them “You didn’t need to go right away. I just wanted space to past.”

Making no reply they walked on in silence. As so often when a third party makes an unnecessary intervention, the situation is escalated.

It was only when I uploaded this last photograph that I noticed the sign in the window.

In the meantime Jackie photographed

two Japanese painted ferns;

the budding Cordeline Australis;

a very hairy caterpillar;

a tellima grandiflora;

a red leaved pieris;

an enlarged camassia;

and a pigeon perched on the weeping birch.

This evening we dined on moist smoked haddock; piquant cauliflower and broccoli cheese; boiled Jersey Royal potatoes; bright green spinach; and flaming orange carrots, with which Jackie drank Peroni and I drank Wairau Cove Sauvignon Blanc 2019.

Off The Leash

The morning was spent in Lymington Hospital, to and from which Jackie drove me. First off was a physiotherapy appointment for my hand. This is apparently doing well. I need not see the therapist again, but will continue finger straightening exercises and massage myself for another six weeks. We then had a wait for an orthopedic appointment to discuss the knee x-ray results. I have no cartilage either behind the kneecap or on the left side, but there is some left on the right. The pain relief is working, and with careful management of that, I am encouraged to walk on the flat. On our return, the wind having desisted, we toured the garden replacing hanging baskets which, Jackie having taken them down before the gales, suffered minimal damage.

On the peach roses A fly was supervising its infant on its first outing into the world. Can you see the baby?

Another attractive variety of allium has flourished.

After lunch, Jackie drove me to the pharmacy at Milford on Sea to collect co-codomol which had been omitted from the medication collected yesterday. The fact that twice the normal amount of tablets had been left for me was rather ironic, since I had agreed with the physiotherapist that I would ween myself off them and turn to paracetamol. I now have a telephone appointment to discuss this with G.P. Dr. Moody-Jones. On the strength of all this, Jackie left me at the green at Milford and I walked up Park Lane, joining the cliff top path at The Beach House, turning into West Road and home through Shorefield. OK, it was a little more than the recommended half an hour, and not totally flat, but I managed it with just a few aching muscles that had not really been put to use for six months.

I had a long talk with a gentleman tending his roses in his small plot opposite the bus shelter in Milford.

The wind coming off The Solent was still strong

enough for a windsurfer and a few small yachts to relish its power, and,

passing an empty bench, a woman, already being propelled along by the gusts, strained to contain one of her dogs.

A new set of warning signs has been posted along the cliff top since I was last here.

Attracted by honeysuckle in the hedgerow leading to West Road, I thus avoided missing

the rather splendid caterpillar lurking in the shadows. I rather like its red warning lights. Can you see it in hiding?

I definitely felt that Cheryl, the physiotherapist, had let me off the leash.

This evening we dined on smoked haddock fish cakes with cheese centres and topping; parsley sauce from our own crop; piquant cauliflower cheese; firm young peas and creamy mashed potato; followed by Lymington-grown tangy strawberries and vanilla ice-cream.

Pretty as was the presentation of the meal,

it tastes better off the plate.

Starting Handles

On this brighter, balmy, day, the returning sunshine was welcomed by all; by me; by Roger’s newly sown fields; by ferns and mare’s tails on the bank of the stream; by basking cattle huddled behind the corner cottage; by a young man, with the customary electronic device, waiting for a bus; by slithering slugs and by creeping caterpillars on the footpath; and by one solitary wave watcher seated on the shingle.

These are the steps Bob runs up and down.

On my return, whist Jackie continued her autumn tidying, I began the daunting task of digging out the more stubborn roots of bramble and ivy from the back drive. Bolt cutters were required for the removal of more of our predecessor’s metal mesh.

As you can see, I didn’t get very far.

Margery and Paul visited us this afternoon, and we enjoyed our usual wide-ranging conversations. Thinking of how times have changed over the last century, we embarked on the subject of early motoring. We travelled back to 1919 when Jackie’s grandfather acquired his first car, and never had to take a test. He would regularly drive himself from Anerley to Brighton when hardly another vehicle was to be seen on the road. She remembered her Dad cranking up a starting handle to get the car going, and jump into the car hoping the engine would continue running. The dog-legged shaped metal crank was shoved through a hole in front of the motor where its own female end engaged with a male one attached to the starting mechanism. This handle for the Morris Minor most resembles one I remember using to help my Dad get moving. You had to be quite vigorous in your cranking, and hope the equipment didn’t suddenly whizz round and break your wrist.

Later, Jackie and I watched, on BBC iPlayer, episode 2 of the 11th series of New Tricks. It was in the 9th series of 2012 – the last one I watched – that the skilful and watchable Denis Lawson replaced James Bolam as one of the old dogs, (who, according to proverb, cannot be taught new tricks), namely a trio of retired policemen under the management of a female officer played originally by Amanda Redman. Their task is to reopen investigations into unsolved crimes.

As with a number of successful TV series over the years, this comedy-drama began as a one-off – on 27th March 2003. Of the original cast only the everlasting Dennis Waterman remains. Redman has been replaced by Tamzin Outhwaite; and Alun Armstrong by Nicholas Lyndhurst.

Having found the rapport between the original cast members very entertaining, I will need to reserve judgement on the current team. One of the secrets of success of such productions is the chemistry between the actors. In my view this is a little lacking at the moment, but it is worth persevering with.

The supporting cast played their parts well.

Our evening meal consisted of Jackie’s classic sausage casserole (recipe), smooth mashed potato, and crisp carrots and peas, followed by jam sponge and custard. She drank Hoegaarden, whilst I enjoyed Isla Negra Cabernet Sauvignon 2013.

Sails

In the shelter of the pergola this morning, a large fat spider was tucking into a breakfast that should last a fortnight.
A new clematis and what we think are ginger lilies have now come into bloom.
Leaving Flo to await the arrival of Becky and Ian who have come back for the night, we drove off to Sway Manor hotel to collect Sheila for a day out. The idea was to begin at Christchurch for a boat trip. Forget it. We drove around the various car parks, following other streams of vehicles searching for places. None were forthcoming, so we gave up. As we left each set of parking spaces, we noticed streams of cars pouring in, but no pedestrians coming to retrieve their vehicles and leave a space.
Our next stop was at Barton on Sea for lunch snacks. Slightly out of the way, not on the beach, we found Sails Coffee Shop. We enjoyed coffees with toasted sandwiches and a breakfast baguette. Elaine, the proprietor, and Sandra offered excellent friendly service, and it was noticeable that in this holiday venue, many other customers were regulars known by name. One of these was the woman, once a cricketer who played for Middlesex, who updated us on the state of play in the Oval Test match between England and India. Newspapers and magazines were on offer in a rack. This establishment is to be recommended. Elaine bade me farewell as she drew back the curtain at the entrance.
We then went on a driving tour of all our old haunts from last year. Sheila was particularly delighted to see ponies with their foals. Rain began to fall as we arrived at St Margaret’s Church at East Wellow to show Sheila the tomb of F N, which is how Florence Nightingale wished it to be inscribed. This tower stands proud above the more ancient stones that surround it.
I was particularly intrigued by the land beyond the kissing gate. This is a gate that swings within a curved barrier, kissing it as it turns. There are a number of the modern version of these entrances and egresses around the area. These tend to be much more cramped than the slender iron version in the churchyard. From the church entrance runs a well-trodden footpath which ends abruptly at the gate. Immediately after it comes a barbed wire fence and a row of newly planted trees. What was obviously a public right of way and a route to the place of worship is no more. What is the story, I wonder?
From there we drove back to Sheila’s hotel where she treated us to an excellent meal of chicken and chips with pavlova to follow. I drank the house white wine, a good chardonnay. Jackie drank peroni and Sheila, sparkling water.
Back at home we spent the rest of the evening with Becky, Flo, and Ian, with whom I later watched the cricket highlights.