Tag: clouds

Sunshine And Showers Today

Before this morning’s first shower descended I carried out a session of rose dead heading. Shirt sleeves kept me warm enough.

After a heavy spattering on our roof I introduced my lens to the sun briefly flirting with scudding cloud clusters.

Raindrops on various blooms and a few garden views came into view. The day, much of which I spent nearing the end of the second volume of Richard Church’s autobiography, continued with more overcast skies than with sunshine.

This evening we all dined on succulent roast pork with perfect tooth-testing crackling; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm broccoli and cauliflower; tender runner beans and spinach; and meaty gravy, with which Jackie drank more of the Lieblich and I drank Hacienda Uranus Garnacha Old Vines, 2020.

No Longer Cloudless

On another very hot morning, Jackie and I transported another car load of green garden refuse to the Efford Recycling centre.

After lunch I watched the recorded highlights of the fourth T20 match between England and New Zealand. This is not my normal choice of cricket, but on such a sweltering afternoon it was acceptable before I buried my nose once more in “Culloden”.

While we watched contrails dissipating among the clouds and the occasional bird flying overhead while, still in T-shirts, we enjoyed a glass of wine on the patio before dinner it occurred to me that the clear blue skies of the last few days are no longer cloudless.

Said dinner consisted of hot and spicy and tempura prawn preparations with vegetable spring rolls on a bed of Jackie’s colourful savoury rice with which she drank more of the Zesty and I drank more of the Malbec.

Rapid-Fire Heavy Showers

This morning I converted three more posts from Classic to Block edits. These were:

Wagons Ho!
Enough To Patch A Dutchman’s Trousers
The Car Wreck

I gave the first of these a different header picture;

Wayback Machine was useful for the second. The correct pictures were all in my iMac Photos on the relevant date, but since they were missing in the post I didn’t know which of those I had published. Wayback provided the answer. One image was irrelevant, so I deleted it.

I was encouraged by a phone call from James of Peacock Computers saying that he and Owen are continuing to work on some of the issues and tackling the posts from the most recent backwards, whereas I am working forwards from the older ones. This means we are quite well coordinated.

This afternoon I ventured out on a dead heading session but was

soon driven in by the first of a series of rapid-fire heavy showers, spattering patio paving and windowpanes with explosive precipitation.

I read some of Lawrence Durrell’s novel Justine which I had begun a few days ago, then nipped out during a moderation of the deluge to finish the gardening task.

Between periods of darkening cloud sunlight buffed the surface of the

dripping plant pearls, with enough respite for me to capture them with my camera. As usual, each image in the gallery bears a title.

Within seconds after each deluge the brooding skies would change to cloud-scudded cerulean blue.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie; firm carrots and Brussel’s sprouts with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bardolino.

To Catch A Worm

I spent much of the morning recovering pictures for https://derrickjknight.com/2022/10/29/nine-years-on/

Immediately after lunch we took drive into the forest where

a weak sun photographed over Charles’s Lane

and through trees at Ogden North feebly attempted to pierce cold cloud cover.

Earlier, Martin had been stymied in his work on the patio by the frozen cementing material. He left after

cutting and carrying from the Back Drive the paving slabs he had oped to fix in place.

The knitted robin decorating the Tiptoe post-box on Wootton Road, knowing where he would land, having risen early enough to catch a juicy worm, donned a breast bib to compete with the Royal Mail red,

A string of ponies gathered outside The Rising Sun at Bashley.

Looking across the valley beneath the aforementioned Ogdens North frost still lay on the roofs, while a pillar of bonfire smoke made its way to merge with the clouds.

A pair of field horses sported rugs to put their unfashionable companion to shame,

while others simply blended with their golden hay.

This evening we all dined on oven fish and chips, sliced pickled gherkins, pickled onions, onion rings, and mushy peas, with which Jackie and I both drank Trentino Pinot Grigio 2021.

A Spectral Steed

Jackie has a penchant for before and after photographs.

When I visited Sears Barbers in Milford on Sea for my first haircut since they reopened after the coronavirus lockdown it was inevitable that she would record

before,

during,

and after Peter’s administration.

On our way home at lunchtime we had noticed windsurfers over Barton on Sea, and returned later in the afternoon to watch them. They had gone, so we made do with

socially distanced walkers on the clifftop against the background of clouds over distant hills and the Isle of Wight.

We continued with a brief foray into the forest where, at the Pilley end of Bull Hill, the Little and Large of the equine world grazed in a field.

The much smaller pony left off its feeding and trotted over to visit me. It was able to ignore the fly crawling towards its eye.

Perhaps the larger companion, giving every impression of posing as a spectral steed, was more vulnerable to the insect pests, as it sported full PPE in the form of masks designed to prevent entry to eyes and ears with the addition of a summer rug, light enough in colour to reflect the sun’s rays.

As always any clicked image gives access to its gallery – each picture can be viewed full size by clicking the box beneath it, and further enlarged with additional clicks.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s sautéed potato topped shepherd’s pie; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, broccoli; tender green beans, and tasty, meaty, gravy, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Rioja.

Not Upside Down

Although less severe, today’s weather was as changeable as that of yesterday.

This morning we drove to Milford on Sea for a repeat prescription. There were more people on the road than there has been of late.

The car parks along the coast were still locked and empty but for this cyclist,

and a couple walking past.

The Needles Eye café has been closed since lockdown began. The louring skies did not deter a number of other pedestrians. The tall straggly cordeline to the right of the picture was receiving its customary battering from the blustery winds

sending wintry waves buffeting breakwaters and sending grating gravel skidding and sliding

along the coastline.

Milky spray churned into vast vats of the latte that is not currently available in the resort’s normal outlets.

Unperturbed by the constantly changing clouds

gulls frolicked silently overhead.

I became engaged in conversation with this couple walking their dogs. The woman helpfully told me how to recover from knee replacements.  She had warmed up enough, despite the cool winds, to wrap her heavy coat around her waist.

As I returned to the Modus another couple left their car and followed their dog to the promenade.

Pale purple thrift and bright yellow buttercups carpet the banks of Park Lane and

drape the crumbling cliffs,

clinging to the edge of which rooks on recce perch for a while

before taking flight

or wandering purposefully among the grasses.

Given that we were out anyway we took a short diversion up to Wootton in search of a pony or two.

A small group wandering along the road turned

to converse with another in a field.

No doubt following the loner’s directions they made their way individually to the other side.

The grey lagged behind a bit.

One cyclist followed the bend at the junction

where another pair paused for a break.

On of the field horses seen on the hill sports a protective mask. This does not indicate that its owner has placed one for coronavirus upside down. It is to protect eyes and ears from invasive flies.

This evening we dined on choice roast chicken thighs; crisp roast potatoes, one type being sweet; plain boiled potatoes; crunchy carrots; tender green beans; a rich red cabbage, with meaty gravy. Jackie drank Heineken and, apart from the quantity I sloshed on my white linen shirt, I drank more of the red Cotes du Rhone.

The Wind Gets Up

Having now reached episode 7 of The Crown series 2, we have decided that enough is more than enough. There is too much intrusive invention for our liking.

This morning I visited Sears Barbers for Peter to cut my hair. Knowing that later today we would be in for a storm which I believe has been named Brendan, we left home an hour early to watch a clear blue sky constantly changing as the relentless wind whipped the waves, scudded the clouds, and precipitated driving rain.

As we approached the coast, passing the White House perched against the indigo skies,

a lichen covered thorn hedge gave testimony to the purity of the nevertheless untamed air.

Even just after 9.30 a.m. the coast road was devoid of daylight

as dark clouds dominated.

A few dog walkers hastened along

beneath skies changing by the minute.

Some gulls struggled on the thermals,

while others hunkered down on the car park tarmac;

I do hope it was a piece of bread that this one gathered up for breakfast.

The waves were simply choppy at first,

but soon increased in ferocity.

The rain was brief but did send me back into the car before we moved further along the coast where

surging spray pounded the sea walls

their cream-laden fingers grasping at

the sturdy breakwaters.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s particularly spicy pasta arrabbiata and tender runner beans with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Concha y Toro Casilliero del Diablo 2017.

 

Venison For Christmas

The weather picture this morning was of strong winds propelling variable clouds, some unloading precipitation of heavy rain and piercing hale, and bright sunshine, all vying for the available time.

Thus, our naked trees enjoyed ever-changing backdrops,

while the house was often brightly lit.

Among other tasks, Aaron planted beside the cypress trunk two heavily scented pink climbing flora –

clematis Montana Mayleen and

rose The Generous Gardener. There will be later additions.

Meanwhile the first of our camellia buds burgeons.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Helen and Bill’s home in Fordingbridge where, with Shelly and Ron we all enjoyed

Helen’s delicious dinner of succulent roast venison topped with bacon; crisp roast potatoes, including the sweet variety and onions; three colours of carrots; firm Brussel’s sprouts and cauliflower with which red and white wines were imbibed. We had begun with canapés and mulled wine. The meal was completed by a moist chocolate log topped with sliced strawberries.

This feast was followed by an impossible Christmas quiz in which Shelly won with a creditable 12/25, Jackie came second with 9, Ron managed 8 and I came last with 6. Helen and Bill were let off because they had done it before. Afterwards we enjoyed anecdotal reminiscences, in particular horse drawn deliveries of groceries and milk; rag and bone men; fish and chips and other meals; house prices and educational practices. We tried to stick to an embargo on the recent election.

I am definitely converted to venison for Christmas.

 

 

It Has To Go

As she toured the garden this morning Jackie was struck by the contrast between the number of survivors from spring and summer still blooming –

including clematis Niobe;

fuchsias Delta’s Sarah

and Mrs. Popple;

hebes;

hot lips;

bidens;

pelargoniums;

pansies;

campanulas;

and roses in the Rose Garden –

and the harbingers of spring to come, such as the budding rhododendrons;

the new shoots of Michaelmas daisies;

and the burgeoning mimuluses.

One of Aaron’s tasks was to clear dragons, hanging baskets, and other vulnerable artefacts from beneath the

rather brittle cypress that continually sheds dead branches and therefore has to go. It will be removed later in the week.

As we were planning to venture into the forest this afternoon the skies darkened, the previously still air produced gusts of more than fifty miles an hour, torrential rains fell, and the birds left the front garden feeders. Within half an hour tranquility returned.

Blue tits returned to the suet balls.This bird tried to masquerade as one;

and Ron, as we have named the front garden robin, was able to head for his seed feeder before the sparrows returned to dispossess him. It is almost impossible to distinguish between male and female robins. Should Ron turn out to be a female I guess she will be a Ronette. https://youtu.be/FXlsWB1UMcE

We then did drive into to forest.

Ponies at Norleywood had calmly weathered the storm that had added to

the pool at the corner of St. Leonards Road,

along which, like cannon-shot, clouds sped across the sky,

against which oak tree branches groped gnarled fingers.

It was not yet sunset when we passed St Leonards Grange and the ruins of its ancient grain barn.

Another winterbourne pool on which oak leaves floated reflected  the tree limbs and trunks;

a cheerful young girl running down the road was overtaken by a passing car;

and a pheasant was framed by a Star of David.

We drove on past Bucklers Hard, then retuned along St Leonards Road to catch

sunset both at the Grange

and a little further along the road.

This evening we dined on fish pie with Jackie’s succulent ratatouille; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; and tender cabbage, with which we both drank Barefoot Sauvignon Blanc 2016.

 

 

It Seems To Be Working

Nugget darted under my feet this morning as I swept the beech nuts from the Rose Garden paving and the gravel paths,

 

 

and around Jackie when she continued planting.

Sometimes he took a bird’s eye view of proceedings.

Here Jackie demonstrates that she has some thyme to plant;

and here converses with her little familiar. “Where’s Nugget?” (33).

Hoping to accustom him to a robin feeder for the winter she has installed one in the cryptomeria, bearing just small tokens. It seems to be working.

Bees, like this one homing in on bright red salvia

and this plundering a pink pelargonium;

as well as butterflies such as this Painted Lady, continue to bask in our sunshine on such a day.

This afternoon I watched a recording of the Rugby World Cup match between South Africa and Canada.

Later, we took a short trip into the forest where, at Holmsley, bracken has really browned;

 

some leaves take on an autumnal hue, while others remain green;

grasses bent to the breeze;

the stream spanned by the eponymous Passage is filling up and flowing briskly;

trees were silhouetted on the sky line;

and a gatepost sporting a boot without which a child had departed pleaded for a rescue dog which had left home.

This evening we dined on prime pork loin steaks roasted with tomatoes and mushrooms; plentiful mushroom stroganoff; firm peas, and tender runner beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Brouilly.