Christchurch Bay – derrickjknight

Clear, Changing, Light

We began the day with an early trip to Milford on Sea Pharmacy.

Cloudscapes over the Solent and Christchurch Bay were ever changing. The Isle of Wight, invisible not so long avows nicely silhouetted against clear blue sky beyond bands of white cotton and degrees of indigo clouds. Cerulean patches peeped through others. Empty cruise ships waited outside Southampton for Covid-19 restrictions preventing them from taking on passengers to be lifted.

Similar skies prevailed over Keyhaven Harbour

and Hurst Spit, along which a couple of heavy lorries churned up dust before descending to

Saltgrass Lane.

Numbers of walkers and their dogs stood out against the constantly changing skies. Beneath the truck in the third image featuring the spit can be see a husky dog and its human companions.

This group raised considerable attention and a number of questions which the gentleman holding the lead was happy to answer.

After lunch Jackie worked on her water features in the garden while I cleared up a little: transporting clippings to the compost; lifting wind-floored owls, none of which had been damaged; and gathering slender fallen branches.

Having now read the first five chapters of

in which Mr Dickens begins to introduce his characters, I scanned the above frontispiece – ‘It was a clear evening, with a bright moon’ – with the title page and five more of Mr Keeping’s illustrations.

‘The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was nevertheless frail and fading’

‘Neither of the three took any notice of him’ – as the artist shows us.

‘ ‘You have seen the gentleman in this way before, miss?’ ‘

‘He touched the tip of his high nose, by way of intimation that he would let Mr Pecksniff into a secret presently’

Notice how Charles Keeping, in ‘Mr Pinch set forth on a stroll about the streets’ establishes perspective as the lines of the detailed foreground donkeys recede into those of the suggested distant chimneys.

Just before dinner I dashed outside with my camera

to photograph a fleeting sunset.

Dinner then consisted of three prawn preparations, namely tempura, salt and pepper, and hot and spicy; Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice; served with fresh salad, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon.

A Fan Of Harry Potter

On another fine spring morning I took a walk to Shorefield Country Park and back.

Before arriving at the end of the back drive I photographed

a few tulips

and bunches of daffodils.

A cerulean Christchurch Bay could be seen from the entrance to Roger Cobb’s top field on Downton Lane.

Further down the road, what looked like a transparent bouquet wrapper added sparkle to the blackthorn.

I saw this because I had turned down the steeper slope from which I had reversed my steps on my last trip. This time I carried Elizabeth’s stick which helped my balance.

I had intended to continue to the end of Downton Lane, but the raucous cawing of rooks emanating from the otherwise deserted Shorefield Country Park became siren calls to the rookery that I knew would be

down a footpath from Shorefield Road to a collection of wooden holiday homes.

The red railed bridge at the far end of the picture I produced on the downward slope traverses the same stream as that crossed by the little road bridge in the image preceding that one.

The damp nature of the terrain is evidenced by the flora flanking the footpath.

It looks as if the corvine colony is at the nest building stage.

Whoever has reduced the 10 m.p.h. limit on Shorefield Road is a fan of Harry Potter.

Jackie’s savoury rice, stuffed as it is with red and yellow peppers and peas for colour; and onions, mushrooms, egg, and garlic for flavour, is a meal in itself. This evening she served it with spicy hot chilli con carne with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Valréas.

“An Artist In My Greenhouse”

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED

This week we have enjoyed three fine days. Tomorrow with also be fine. Today it drizzled most of the time. This, however, did not phase John Jones, an artist friend who had planned to depict the garden and was duly delivered by Paul Clarke this morning.

John happily became ensconced in the greenhouse where he drew until lunchtime. He didn’t seem to mind the cockerel following progress.

Jackie laid on a splendid lunch of cauliflower and stilton soup, crusty bread, cold meats salad, and cheese and biscuits.

Afterwards John applied watercolour.

Remembering what I was always prone to do when painting, I instructed the painter not to dip his brush in his tea.

“How exciting!” observed Jackie. “An artist in my greenhouse”.

Despite his difficult vantage point, John managed to produce excellent compositions in pencil,

and in watercolour.

As, early this evening, we drove John to New Milton to catch the train to his home in Southampton, the rain had stopped and,

especially across Christchurch Bay, the sun blazed in the sky.

Walkers strode along the cliff path at Milford on Sea.

The Isle of Wight was in clear view.

It seemed as if the crumbling edge is further approaching the pedestrian thoroughfare.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips, pickled onions and gherkins. I finished the Cairanne.

P.S. Note Jackie’s reply to paolsoren in comments for the soup recipe

The Roadside Meadow

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

Municipal planting has been one of the facilities offered by Local Authorities in these straitened times to have fallen by the wayside. In the metaphorical sense this is not true of New Forest District Council. Last autumn seeds were sown by the side of the A337 and covered with a protective netting. They have now sprung into life.

This is the location of the nearest site to our home, no more than a mile away.

We have been waiting an opportune moment to photograph the most amazing display that is currently swaying in the breeze and buzzing with bees.

For once, I cannot say any more than the plants do themselves. This array would enhance any cottage garden.

Having feasted our eyes on these floral delights, we drove on to Barton on Sea to have a look at Christchurch Bay.

The unstable cliffs sign is not new,

but it has perhaps moved inland a little more.

Only the gliding gulls can travel over the clifftop with equanimity.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s marvellous boeuf bourguignon with swede and potato mash and mange touts. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while I drank more of the Saint Emilion.

Keep Off My Balcony

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

On another day of gentle recovery Jackie and I delivered a letter to another Knight in Everton Road that had been wrongly included in our mail. We then joined Becky and Ian in the Beachcomber café at Barton on Sea.

Even as early as 2.30 p.m. the horizon over Christchurch Bay took on a pink glow. This appeared to be because the heavy indigo clouds rolling in left room for the sun’s rays to slice the surface of the water. The temperature was, nevertheless, mild enough to encourage a couple to venture forth.

I am indebted to Becky for showing an interest in the birds warming themselves over the chimneys. These, I think, are starlings who are normally to be seen pestering customers on the café lawn.

This one, atop the bus stop, sang like a cranking bicycle chain.

A gull perched on a pinnacle,

helped to create the contrasting image of live gulls and false bird of prey,

the potential for which our daughter, having noticed the spikes, spotted. The owners making sure that unwanted depositors of guano were kept off the balcony. The raptor is even reflected in a window, subtly magnifying the threat.

This evening we dined on Mr Chatty Man’s finest offerings from Hordle Chinese Take away. I finished the médoc.

Exhuming Queen Victoria

On a bright, sunny, morning I rambled around the garden, down the lane, along Roger’s footpath and back.

From our patio can be seen a rhododendron, geranium palmatums, petunias, foxgloves, and fennel.

The centre of the Phantom Path gives a view towards that shown above. We can also see that the clematis Star of India and an unnamed white rose frolic together on the Gothic Arch.

This red rose, aptly named Altissimo, climbs between Elizabeth’s bed and the rose garden.

a sentinel to the Back Path.

The morning sun burns out detail on the right hand side of Downton Lane, glinting on the back of a shade-seeking orange ladybird, just filtering through shrubbery on the left.

This gate must have once led into a garden beyond it.

Roger is growing barley this year.

Across the left hand field a large vessel sedately traversed the horizon as yachts skimmed along a deep blue Christchurch Bay.

To my right clouds slid silently over Downton.

All I could hear were the strings of countless insects’ wings.

The pong of fermenting slurry filled my nostrils.

Back home, a far more appetising aroma greeted me. Jackie was preparing a sausage casserole for Sam’s visit tomorrow. I suppose I can defer my gratification until then.

This afternoon we planted other flowers, such as heucheras and penstemons into the rose garden, offering some variation.

The rose Deep Secret has now revealed all.

During my childhood, we used to brighten our copper pennies by rubbing them on the bricks of the school wall. Old bricks, not modern paving ones that don’t crumble into dust on the application of friction. So, when Jackie unearthed a tiny coin encrusted with thick verdigris, I was off in search of an old brick. They are not hard to find in the garden of Old Post House. I cleaned enough to know what a treasure we had found, but, since we were now afraid of scrubbing off any more detail, Jackie finished the job with Hob Brite, a rather gentler abrasive.

We had exhumed a small coin, bearing, on the obverse, the somewhat pockmarked head of Queen Victoria; on the reverse, Britannia, the date 1893, and its denomination. So soon after the previous post, we had found a farthing. Serendipity or what? How long had that lain in the soil? Who had dropped it? We will never know.

The previous posting featured a wren, which did not appear on the reverse until the pattern coin of Edward VIII (so called because it had not yet been approved by the time of his abdication in 1936). The little bird first replaced Britannia in 1937, during the reign of the father of Queen Elizabeth II, King George VI, who succeeded his older brother.

For tonight’s dinner, barbecue sauce flavoured the spare ribs; Jackie’s rice and green beans came with it. She drank Hoegaarden and I slurped Dao. This last verb was Jackie’s suggestion, when she pointed out that I had quaffed more than once recently. Not exactly couth, but there you have it.

P.S. Further research suggests that our coin is in fact bronze.

Monochrome Moods

On this bright, cloudy, morning I walked as far as the rusting machinery along Roger’s footpath. To my left, clouds scudded across Christchurch Bay which reflected the bright blue of the sky; to my right, I could glimpse the rape field on the other side of Christchurch Road.

In our garden, I struggled to catch one of the crinkled tissue orange poppies frolicking in the cool breeze.

Cracked and scattered snail shells signalled that the thrushes are alive and well. I wondered, however, whose were the droppings left by the half-eaten breakfast on the recently sawn stump.

Shelly dropped in for a visit this afternoon, and was suitably impressed with the results of her sister’s gardening.

This afternoon I scanned and reproduced a troublesome set of colour slides from September 1972. They were portraits of Jackie taken in the kitchen, wearing an outfit she had made herself. Although strong sunlight streamed through the window, the shots were largely underexposed, but I put them into iPhoto in an attempt to bring out elusive detail.

Almost by accident, I discovered that black and white cropped versions produced the best results. The computer has a facility for converting images to black and white. I used this, then increased the contrast. The three pictures above illustrate the progression.

I believe monochrome demonstrates the many moods of my marvellous muse to the best advantage.

Seeking an identification for the omelette Jackie produced for tonight’s dinner, I was told: ‘I don’t know. It’s just an omelette with stuff in it’. The ‘stuff’ was onions, peppers, and mushrooms. A garnish of the chef’s garlic mushrooms topped by home grown parsley completed the presentation. And jolly tasty it was too. Chips and baked beans were the accompaniment. I finished the Merlot, and Jackie drank sparkling water.