chicken – derrickjknight

Bumping Into Prince Philip

Early this morning, once again in steady rain, Jackie and I transported another Modus-load of soggy garden refuse to the Efford Recycling Centre, and continued on a damp forest drive.

A pair of wet donkeys at East Boldre with little leaves adhering to their spiral-patterned hides hopefully raised their mournful heads as I disembarked to photograph them.

Ponies and their foals seemed happier in nature’s cool showers along Furzey Lane. Equally damp they contentedly cropped their pasturage.

One foal took time away from suckling to have a good scratch;

another rested beneath an oak tree surviving against the odds which was laden with acorns ready to drop.

Raindrops must have slid down this chicken’s feathers.

I never met Queen Elizabeth II, but I did once bump into Prince Philip.

Sometime in the early 1990s when Jessica and I were staying in Cumbria in the premises of the late Hugh Lowther, married at the time to my late wife’s cousin Angie – possibly not the holiday spent with Ali, Steve, and James, in 1992, during which today’s header photograph was taken – we attended a show event in the grounds of Hugh’s father, the 7th Earl of Lonsdale. Willie, Viscount Whitelaw of Penrith, was one of the dignitaries I recognised within the secure palisade surrounding the area.

When wandering around, I passed the entrance to a marquee just as an elegant gentleman dashed out unable to avoid a collision. Thus I met the Queen’s Consort.

This evening we repeated yesterday’s wholesome fare, except that Jackie drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the Burgundy.

Venison, Chicken, Swans, Ducks, Geese

Jackie cut my hair after lunch. Then we enjoyed a late afternoon forest drive.

Swans, casting long shadows, with a group of mallards, which took to flight upon my arrival, wandered across the sward at Beaulieu River.

At East End a donkey and foal clipped a hedge, while a burnished pony watched the traffic passing by.

The lowering sun was reflected along with trees in a pool beside Exbury Road.

The tide was out. at Lepe where I focussed on the Isle of Wight and a container vessel on the horizon between Southampton and the island; while

Jackie photographed a chicken in a field.

We turned down Lower Pennington Lane in order to catch the sunset on the way home.

Here the Assistant Photographer photographed a deer and three geese.

I photographed a skein of geese over head, and others enhancing the sunset.

These shots are Jackie’s.

This evening we dined on more of the Culinary Queen’s wholesome cottage pie with fresh carrots, cabbage, and runner beans. Mrs Knight drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Douro.

Witchcraft With Acorns

The light today was gloomy and the slate-grey overhead colander-canopy constantly leaked drizzle.

Jackie reported that this morning while Muggle tweeted in her ear she realised that there was another exchange of battle cries between

Nugget and someone else who occupied the garden of No 5 Downton Lane. There are now three robins setting out their territory. Later, when Jackie tried to engage Nugget in conversation while he was perched on the rose garden fence, he turned his back on her. “Aren’t you talking to me?”, she asked. He peered over his shoulder, fixed her witheringly, and turned away again.

“Where’s Nugget?” (41).

Given the date, we thought a trip to Burley, the village of witches, might be order.

In Everton Road the New Zealand flag fluttered limply at half mast. This was clearly in mourning for the All Blacks’ defeat by England last Saturday in the Rugby World Cup Semi Final. The New Zealanders have been the acknowledged best team in the world throughout my lifetime. Three times world champions, they had not lost any match in the tournament for twelve years.

Nearby a cross-eyed pumpkin face sat on a wall.

Despite the dismal drizzle Holmsley Passage managed to put on a bright face,

even though someone had dumped a sofa on the verge.

Jackie photographed me as I wandered along for a while.

Landscapes on the moorland section were misted by dripping precipitation.

At Burley a pair of guinea fowl created their own mix of havoc, amusement, and trepidation, as they wandered back and forth across the through road.

One young lady crouching with her mobile phone graphically expressed her concern as they stepped off the kerb;

two young cyclists seemed a bit bemused.

While I concentrated on these two, Jackie observed a chicken eating an ice cream.

Shop windows venerated the season;

we both pictured The Mall,

guarded by a pumpkin witch.

All the little shops in this small street sported suitable adornments.

Jackie entered a gift shop in search of stocking fillers. She emerged with two owls, which, if Orlaith got her sums right, makes the current garden total 93.

This evening we dined at The Wheel at Bowling Green. Jackie enjoyed tempura prawn starters followed by a rack of ribs, fries, onion rings, and plentiful fresh salad; my choice was equally good breaded whitebait, salad and toast followed by rib-eye steak, chips, mushroom, tomato, and peas. Mrs Knight drank Kaltenberg and I drank Malbec.

Hauling Grandpa

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS ITS GALLERY, INDIVIDUAL MEMBERS OF WHICH CAN BE ENLARGED BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT

Leaving Elizabeth house and dog sitting, the rest of us spent the morning in Burley. It is amazing how much time can be occupied in scouring a few tourist shops in a village with a reputation built on mythical witches.

Even before reaching the fudge shop in the alley linking the car park with the high street, everything on offer had to be explored. Samples of their produce were handed out outside Burley Fudge, next door to which a vast number of different New Forest ice creams were on sale. Jackie disappeared into

Witchcraft

and returned with two witches who stood cackling on the alfresco table guarding our fudge and ice cream.

I had sat on a picnic bench seat while the first row of outlets had been explored. In order to transfer to the ice cream parlour I needed to be hauled to my feet by two strong young ladies.

While the rest of the enchantresses’ attractions were being carefully combed, Jackie and I sat on a bench near the war memorial.

A splendid chicken circling our seat craned its neck hoping to catch some of Jackie’s fudge, whilst its rooster crowed from a nearby fence. In his eagerness to photograph the cock, a foreign visitor, unfamiliar with cattle grids, put a foot through the bars, filling his shoe with muddy water and receiving an earful from his wife.

Across the road the Cycle Hire establishment was exceedingly busy. Traffic streamed down the street, making it extremely difficult for a couple with two small children carried with them on specially designed bikes to return their rented equipment.

Danni and Andy joined us later in the afternoon and joined in the general merriment. The eight of us dined on Jackie’s superb steak pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, cabbage; and creamy mashed potato. This was followed by apple, apricot and blackberry crumble with ice cream or cream. The girls had picked and washed the blackberries this afternoon. Red wine, Hoegaarden, coke, and water were variously consumed. I drank a Parra Alta Malbec 2016.

Baa

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. THOSE IN GROUPS ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN THE PAGE AND CLICKING THE RELEVANT BOX.

It wasn’t until early evening that the clarity of the dawn skies was to be repeated today.

Jackie discovered that the Big Beast had dug its way under her reinforced log last night, further trampled the cyclamen, and knocked over the obelisk. Undeterred, she put back the loose soil and buried more, lower, stakes around the wooden peg.

Elizabeth came for lunch which consisted of cold meats and salads. After this she and I photographed bugs on the diamond jubilee tulips. The first is mine with my Canon EOS 5D;

the next two with my Canon SX700;

and finally, Elizabeth’s with her i-Phone, by which time the bugs had fled.

Later, we took a drive to the north of the forest.

On Flexford Lane in Sway, we needed to wait on the verge for a horse and rider with a cycling escort, followed by a white van, to pass.

The gorse-covered hills below Abbot’s Well at Frogham glowed in the evening light.

Jackie and Elizabeth turned and spotted me photographing them as they stood in the car park.

The colourfully attired gentleman beside them obligingly took his own camera into the landscape, thus providing a foil to my photographs.

As we left, a pony drank from a reflective pool.

As we approached the Cadnam roundabout near the end of Roger Penny Way, we noticed a flock of sheep blocking a turning to our left. As soon as she could Jackie turned around so we could see what was happening. The woolly animals were steadfastly making their way past our car to the aforementioned major road,

where they caused a total standstill.

Looking back down the lane we saw what seemed like the final stragglers,

who picked up speed and galloped in panic after the main group.

In fact they were not the last. Two more had been left behind. We hoped they found their friends.

Further along this lane a very small sow snuffling against a wall, became excited by our presence, perhaps hoping for a chat.

Around the next bend a couple of ducks had taken possession of a watery verge.

One was an Indian runner. We didn’t recognise the other.

Finally, a collection of chickens scampered from the verge when we stopped beside them.

This evening the three of us dined on Jackie’s splendid chilli con carne, savoury rice, and green beans. The ladies drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Malbec.

Walking To Bridgetown

On this drizzly day, Jackie did a great deal of planting and composting. We then carried off to the dump two more bags of the griselinia cuttings that Aaron and Robin had filled for us on Sunday. We only came back with a hoe.

After completing the scanning of the March 2004 colour slides of Barbados, i discovered some negative film I used when walking around the island before Sam arrived. The first dozen of these are of a ten mile walk from our first hotel at the southern tip to the capital, Bridgetown. It was a bit hot, and this was when I earned the epithet ‘the white man who walks’.

This street scene shows the sign for a roadside bar; a well cared-for church, and typical chattel houses,

one with some kind of lean-to constructed of weathered corrugated iron, which was a common roofing material.

The gardens of some of these houses contained car wrecks.

Other owners preferred shrubs,

such as this bougainvillea trained around a porch behind a little picket fence.

Chickens, some having been instructed in the art of deportment, strutted around with the apparent freedom of a New Forest pony.

Coconuts

and breadfruit hung over the road which lacked a footpath,

and along which rampant buses tore. There were not many stops, but local people kept telling me I should use one.

The children who emerged from these simply constructed homes were clad in crisp, clean, uniforms and certainly were not ‘creeping like snail, unwillingly to school’ (William Shakespeare).

This evening we dined on Tesco’s fluffy fish pie; cauliflower, mushrooms, tomatoes, and peas. Jackie drank lemon squash, and I drank merlot. Jackie is still carrying a cough from the virus, although I am not.

Carry On Regardless

David has sent me an e-mail giving the information that Jamie and the Crazy Hearts will be performing a barbecue concert at Le Code Bar this coming Saturday evening. So, come on, all my French readers, turn up. I am assured by Fred that Johnny Cash will be there in person. Possibly in spirit, anyway.

I missed my assinine friend as I set off on this chilly, cloudy, morning granted the occasional shaft of sunlight, to walk the Pomport loop. The field he shares with goats was empty of fauna but full of flora, including long grass and nettles.

Wild flowers proliferated. Buttercups had more chance to brighten the landscape than those of last week in Minstead. Large daisies had formed their own, natural, chain, and dog roses mingled with others I cannot name.

The road was lined with cow parsley, and April’s knobbly-kneed vine stems were sprouting lime-green shoots.

As I neared Pomport the throb of the engine of a tractor working a field below, and the racket of ducks on the pond beneath the slope disturbed the general silence.

The sweet aroma of freshly mown grass led me to an elderly gentleman, his glistening face bespattered with cuttings. We had a satisfyingly lengthy conversation during which we discussed my route. He asked me if I was going via Cuneges. I wasn’t. He then suggested Saint Andre, a sign for which I knew appeared just before the usual road I take. I said I would.

Someone had placed a bouquet at the foot of the war memorial.

I had never taken the Saint Andre route before because it bears a no through road sign. But, relying on my local informant, I took a chance. The tarmac did in fact peter out at this hamlet containing a few smallholdings, that offered a different perspective to my downward journey.

A marmalade cat loped off at my arrival, but a chicken, apparently mottled with terra cotta shards, remained to fix me with its beady eye.

Following the colour scheme, a spray can on a rubbish heap appeared to have released its contents. I was able to pick my way through a very muddy track between vineyards that led to the road.

Approaching me as I reached the houses was a post van I had seen in Pomport. This somewhat disconcerted me because I did not want to end up back there. However, as the delightful song from Sam’s favourite album of the early 1990s from the aptly named The Beautiful South, came to me, I decided to ‘carry on regardless’. My son played this record over and over again and I never tired of it.

Reaching the D17 and not recognising it for what it was, I dutifully turned left. It was then that my experiences in The New Forest came in handy. I spotted a fallen fruit tree I had noticed on my way up, promptly turned round, and walked back down to Sigoules, feeling that I had learned some woodcraft after all.

Today’s lunch in the bar began with a tasty vegetable soup followed by a crisp slice of piquant pizza. The main course was a skewer of tiny tender hearts served with a spicy sausage and green and haricot beans. Sweet strawberries was the finale.