3.9.14
This morning I reacquainted myself with our Downton garden where I found signs of impending autumn. 
The phantom hydrangea turns pink during that season, and is beginning to do so now. Leaves are starting to fall, and, although the day was warm and sunny, the early temperature was a little cool.
A new honeysuckle, saved from the jungle of the early summer, now clings to the golden arches. 
Similarly rescued, an unidentified clematis now festoons the copper beech. Cyclamens are emerging into the light. 
One has fought its way through rough soil beneath the holly near the head gardener’s den.
Calls to my Blackberry phone, even after I have returned from France, are very crackly. I therefore decided to request what is probably only my fourth upgrade in about fifteen years. This meant a trip to O2 in Christchurch. The process of making the necessary adjustments to my contract, filling in the forms, and choosing and setting the new Samsung Galaxy took all of two hours. For starters, the computer indicated that I wasn’t eligible, so the assistant had to work manually.
Dan, who attended to me while Jackie sat beside us, was a delightful young trainee who occasionally needed help from his willing and more qualified colleagues. It was really quite an entertaining afternoon, the highlight of which was probably the selection of a new device. Dan was not phased by this elderly gent saying he didn’t want internet and didn’t feel comfortable with touch screens. He asked me how old I was. When I told him he replied that his grandfather was in his eighties and was very effectively using a phone that carried all the facilities once confined to a computer.
Obviously I had to opt for what was good enough for Dan’s Grandad.
Jackie regretted that it would have been rather undignified for her to emulate the little boy who, in boredom, silently rolled around under the chairs whilst his father was discussing his contract.
Afterwards she drove us to the cleaners at New Milton, then home to Downton.
This evening I failed my first test with the new device. I received, or rather didn’t receive, a call from my friend Jessie. Not knowing how to answer it, I missed it. Fortunately, by the time the subsequent voicemail message came in, I had figured out how to respond, so was able to listen to it and return the call.
We dined on cod, chips, and mushy peas at Daniel’s in Highcliffe. Jackie’s drink was coffee, and mine was tea.
Tag: cyclamen
No Dinner
Today having dawned crisp and clear, I circumperambulated Cannon Hill Common, my companions, as in Telegraph Woods yesterday, being magpies and squirrels scuttling about.
In Maycross Avenue a new set of paving was about to replace a front garden. 
The pavement was disturbed and carried a series of markings the like of which I have often seen in cities. I imagine they are alerting paviours to utility pipes that must be preserved. The exact colour scheme escapes me. Perhaps white or blue for water, and red for electricity. Next time I see the road up I will check. That won’t be long.
Three, silent, unexcited, and rather beautiful dogs waited in Cannon Hill Lane. When their proud owner emerged from the Mini-Market he informed me that they were not huskies, but the larger Alaska Malamuts.
I was just in time to see caterers providing ducks with the last crumbs of their breakfast.
Four years after his death, Mr. Marshall’s memorial bench bore its usual vase of fresh flowers, roses this time, augmented by a container of cyclamen which should survive the winter.
As I returned down Cannon Hill Lane, a young boy, cycling up and down the pavement, had me wondering whether it was half-term. I don’t think so.
Back in Links Avenue I struggled to get my head into crossword clueing mode. Jackie has told me that, under the Minstead regime, as she, who will be retired, will be in charge of the kitchen, I will get no dinner until I have written a clue. Maybe I should take a leaf out of my friends Maggie and Mike Kindred’s book and work steadily through the morning, but as I start my day with a ramble I can’t see that happening.
This evening I did have some dinner, on three counts; the first is that I cooked the sausage and gammon casserole I took from the fridge this morning; the second is that I made very good headway with the clues; and the third is that the new regime hasn’t started yet. With our meal Jackie drank Hoegaarden, whilst I enjoyed Muriel, which, I hasten to add, is a superb 2007 reserve rioja purchased in the co-op, and well recommended.