dahlias – Page 10 – derrickjknight

Fish ‘n’ Chips

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Alison visited today and brought us a wonderful set of wind chimes. Given the amount of wind we usually experience, it is sod’s law that the air was now perfectly still.

On display during her walk around the garden were

Japanese anemones

and dahlias;

clematises and petunias;

begonias;

and bees approaching kniphofias

or stocking up on sunflowers.

A response to yesterday’s post from Pauline, The Contented Crafter, prompted me to look into the fire at Mr Pink’s Fish And Chips shop. It was on the evening of Wednesday 24th August that the oil in one of the chip pan vats caught fire. Three firefighting crews were rapidly in attendance to extinguish the fire, and no-one was hurt. The best fish and chip shop for miles around will, however, be closed for some weeks.

We had been considering for some time visiting The Cliff House at Barton on Sea, an hotel with a restaurant serving, among other things, fish and chips, so when Pauline asked us what we were going to do on fish ‘n’ chips nights, this seemed a good reason to try it.

We did that this evening. We both enjoyed excellent hake in sourdough batter, served with chips in a tin mug and peas in a pottery dish. My delicious dessert was summer berry Eton mess which came in a jam jar. Jackie’s trio of ice creams was enjoyable, but she wasn’t sure about the flavour of one, and asked for my opinion. I suggested Plasticine, on the grounds that it was the same colour of that modelling material after children had been at it. The waitress informed us that it was blueberry. Jackie drank Erdinger wheat beer and I drank an Italian pinot grigio. The service was friendly and efficient. We will return.

The Trail Picked Up Again

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Today was one for Jackie to water her babies, and for me to dead-head the Rose Garden.

We have many dahlias enhancing various beds;

and rudbeckia, canna lilies, Japanese anemones, and buddleia blending in the Palm Bed.

This afternoon we hit the Hordle Scarecrow Trail once more.

Entry No. 1, at 9, Longfield Road, is a commendable Junior effort. ‘Alice in Wonderland’ is embellished by the Cheshire Cat in the window.

A number of Individual competitors have chosen to portray ‘Rapunzel’. No. 2 at 33 Longfield Field road has set the heroine in her castle prison, with her hair trailing along the shrubbery;

at 8, Myrtle Close, entry number 10, she resembles a lengthy caterpillar snaking along the top of the fence;

No.7, at Rose Cottage, Woodcock Lane is an imaginative junior entry. The castle has been incorporated, and the eponymous character hangs out of the window.

‘Three Little Pigs’, No.4, at 152 Everton Road tells the story to which I referred in ‘The Uses of Enchantment’.

There are two ‘Pinocchio’s. 3, White Barn Crescent houses entry number 5;

no.6 at 3, Mallard Close, also features Jiminy Cricket. This excellent piece of work was an Anglo-Canadian collaboration, in that the creator’s Canadian grandchildren had a big hand in the operation. Making Pinocchio a puppet on strings is a splendid touch.

‘The Wizard of Oz’ at 62, Everton Road, entry number nine, is interactive. Not content with three-dimensional references to L. Frank Baum’s story, Robert Gill has provided a witch on the gatepost. If you dare to press the button you will get a scare.

You could easily miss parts of entry number 8 at Beehive Cottage, 86B Everton Road. Firstly, why ‘Crow White’? Surely she is ‘Snow White’? Not if she’s a scarecrow, she isn’t.

Then, she bemoans lack of help with the housework.

If you look up to the bedroom window you will see the wicked stepmother reflected in her mirror;

but unless you investigate the Land Rover parked in front of the garage, you won’t see the ugly old woman into whom she was transformed, with the poisoned apple on the dashboard. It was useful to have my Driver’s extra pair of eyes to take in all this.

Looking decidedly out of her element was ‘The Little Mermaid’, the Hordle W.I. entry number 12.

This evening we dined on roast beef, new potatoes, cauliflower, carrots, and green beans, with scrumptious gravy. I finished the Fleurie, and Jackie drank Hoegaarden.

Patrick’s Patch Revisited

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We enjoyed a productive drive through the forest this morning.

On Hincheslea Moor the horizon still bore the early haze, as one man and his dog disappeared into the bracken,

whilst the sun’s rays illuminated the rest,

especially the bright purple heather.

Venturing into the wooded area at the edge of the moor, I became aware that I was being observed.

A number of Highland Cattle glided among the trees,

and sailed majestically into the sunshine beyond.

These great shaggy beasts have roamed the rugged landscape of Scotland since at least the 6th century AD, possibly having been imported from Scandinavia by invading Vikings.

Forage is easy to come by in The New Forest,

and they probably don’t need their extra overcoats.

They really are light on their feet, silent, and really quite elegant.

On my way back through the forest this one became more interested in my presence;

raising her head, she licked her chops;

and attempted a kiss, which, deftly avoiding tripping over a fallen trunk, I politely declined.

Moving on, the Lymington River at Brockenhurst was as smooth and effective as glass.

From there we travelled to Beaulieu for a visit to Patrick’s Patch. Although this gem of a community garden has featured in a number of posts, the link from 25th November 2013 explains its purpose.

Today, the garden was enjoying one of its peak periods. This path, to one of the many scarecrows, is flanked by sweet peas, dahlias, and globe artichokes.

Butterflies, like this comma, punctuated the hedges;

bees raided the echinacea;

at their peak were flowers like the dahlias above, this zinnia,

and the globe artichokes that bore the evidence of the irrigation of

Rachel, the Head Gardener, who worked over the whole plot with a snaking hose.

Before we left, this friendly young woman cut us a bouquet of flowers, including the zinnia pictured above. Jackie was quick to place them in a vase on the kitchen table.

This evening we dined on the offerings of Mr Chatty Man Chan at Hordle Chinese Take Away. I finished the last inch or two of the Slovenian white wine.

An Incontestable Explanation

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It was an interesting day.

We began by searching out a garden parasol that would meet the exacting requirements of the Head Gardener. Beginning with Stewart’s at Christchurch, where we at least bought a dahlia with this month’s half price offer token, we travelled to Redcliffe Nurseries where we failed again.

Finally we found the very thing at Everton Nurseries, just along the road from us.

Having spent most of the morning on this, I set about tackling an item I did not recognise on my monthly NatWest MasterCard statement. Having gone through the usual hoops to reach an advisor, she rang me back after taking details, and referred me to someone else, I learned that Laithwaite’s wine merchants had been taking a regular annual subscription fee since I last used their service in 2004. Yes, I know, I should have checked my statements more thoroughly.

NatWest could stop any further payments, but they could not do anything about the last 12 years. Neither could they negotiate with Laithwaite’s. That was up to me. With some reluctance, the adviser gave me a telephone for the wine merchant. There were some digits missing, so I couldn’t get through. Rather than phone the bank again, I thought I’d look them up on line.

Google was down.

I called the bank again. Another person gave me another number.

I phoned Laithwaite’s who couldn’t identify me because they had no account with my card details at my current address. I explained that I had once been a Laithwaite’s customer many years ago. I was asked for the postcode of the address at which I had been living when I last used them. Assuming it was probably our home in Newark, fortunately I remembered it. I would receive a phone call as soon as permission for a refund had been granted.

I couldn’t even write this up until my search engine recovered.

We had a coffee on the patio and I sought solace in plants like various

dahlias, such as Coup de Soleil

and another, whose name escapes me (not that I ever had it);

and phlox.

The scent of these lilies rivals anything else in the Rose Garden perfume parlour.

In fairness to Laithwaite’s their customer services department sorted this out and rang me back as promised. I will receive a full refund. Apparently they had been sending letters to Lindum House and receiving no reply. I said that I was grateful for their speedy response, but, when I expressed surprise that in those circumstances they continued to take my money, there was an incontestable explanation.

This was an opt out system, not an opt in one. In other words once you have ever opted in you are in forever unless you opt out. Clear? Clever.

Then Google began operating again.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chicken jalfrezi and savoury rice, with which she drank Kingfisher and I drank more of the Hawkes Bay Merlot/Cabernet Sauvignon.

The Death Of The Heart

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Today, I have been mostly watering plants.

Nicotiana now soars aloft.

Several of our clematises, such as Diversifolia Hendersonii

and Queen Mother in the front garden,

and Duchess of Albany on the Rose Garden pergola bear hats of invisible pixies frolicking and turning somersaults in the sunshine.

This lily has taken two years to bloom.

Many, like this one, live just one day.

Bees are drawn to our nasturtiums.

The kniphofias have poked their way up through the soil,

as have the red hot dahlias in the New Bed. The first is Bishop of Llandaff. I’m not sure about the others.

This view from the Shady Path encompasses

Margery’s hollyhocks.

While I was watering, Ronan was fixing our boiler, not that we will need heating any time soon.

This is the blurb on the back cover of

which I finished reading this evening.

When my blogging friend, Lisa learned that I was embarking on this novel she remembered that when she had read it, a long time ago, she had found it sad. I would trust Lisa’s judgement ahead of the book’s publicists.

If this is a story of adolescent love in the thirties, I am glad my teenage years were in the fifties. In my view it was more a tale of isolation and loneliness. I agree with the ‘Passion, misunderstanding…..’ paragraph above, but if this an example of ‘sublime sense of comedy’ it is so black as to be invisible to me. Remind me not to try The Orchid Trilogy.

Having said all this, I must concede that Bowen ‘is a major writer’. The book is well constructed; the prose is elegant; she has a keen eye for detail; and she develops character well. But does she like any of her creations?

Finally, Augustus John’s model has far more spirit about her than the unfortunate Portia.

This evening Jackie enjoyed a meal out with her friend, Pauline (not our NZ one); and I dined sumptuously on scrambled egg on toast and Doom Bar.

Tom Daley

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Jackie continued her creative miracles on the various beds. I rendered sporadic assistance in dead-heading, weeding, clearing up, and humping bags of compost.

Here are current views of The Head Gardener’s Walk

and The Gazebo Path, looking across Margery’s bed in which her hollyhocks are now in bloom.

Petunias in hanging baskets are ubiquitous,

as are lilies of many different kinds in various beds. Currently they share The New Bed with dahlias and clematises.

In the Rose Garden, before I’d finished dead-heading, the pink carpet rose was laid out before Love Knot, poppies, and petunias;

and For Your Eyes Only caught the sun.

Particularly in the morning, falling petals are suspended from spidery filaments. Spinning in the breeze some,

like this fuchsia, have the appearance of Tom Daley taking off,

or, such as this honeysuckle, shuttles aiming for space stations.

In case anyone needs to know this is what Wikipedia has to say about Tom Daley:

‘Thomas Robert “Tom” Daley (born 21 May 1994)^[2] is a British diver and television personality. Daley specialises in the 10 metre platform event and was the 2009 FINA World Champion in the individual event at the age of 15. He started diving at the age of seven and is a member of Plymouth Diving Club. He has made an impact in national and international competitions from age 9. He represented Great Britain at the 2008 Summer Olympics where he was Britain’s youngest competitor, the youngest competitor of any nationality outside the sport of swimming, and the youngest to participate in a final.^[5] In 2009, Daley reached a career best ranking of number one in the FINA World Diving Rankings for the ten-metre platform.^[6]

He won two gold medals for England at the 2010 Commonwealth Games, in the 10 metre synchro diving (with Max Brick) and the 10 m Individual Platform competition,^[7] and won the bronze medal for Great Britain in the individual competition at the 2012 Summer Olympic Games.^[8]

After his success at the 2012 Olympic Games and a summer of great sporting interest amongst the public in the UK, television network ITV approached Daley to have a role in their new celebrity diving reality TV show Splash!. Daley made his debut in the show’s premiere on 5 January 2013 as a mentor to the celebrity competitors taking part.^[9]‘

With the increasing warmth, the butterflies are back.

Here a Peacock performs its trapeze routine on a hebe.

Ronan, from Tom Sutton, came to fix our boiler which has stopped working. Unfortunately there were several issues, one being a faulty control box which he will have to obtain tomorrow. We won’t stink, because we have an immersion heater in the shower.

Tonight we dined on Jackie’s wholesome heart casserole, creamy mashed potato, and crunchy carrots. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, and I made a start on the excellent Brancott Estate merlot/cabernet sauvignon 2014 given to me for my birthday by Shelly and Ron.

Remembering 7/7

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We have a number of hanging baskets around the kitchen doors.

This one contains fuchsia Blue Angel;

here clematis Warsaw Nike, from its pot clambers up to another containing petunias and lobelia. The white pot contains apple mint, and borage occupies the bed.

Nearby, bidens blooms.

The New Bed is now taking on its summer garb. Fuchsia, dahlias, lilies, clematises, and solanum are all in evidence.

As it is my birthday today, I received a lot of messages. Some of these were texts. For the last couple of months anyone trying to phone me on the mobile when I am at home has not been able to receive a reply and has been sent straight to voicemail. I have then received a text saying I have a voice message which I have not been able to access.

I have refrained from boring readers with this, but today I decided to visit O2 in Christchurch in an attempt to resolve the issue. The problem seemed to have been a faulty SIM card. This was changed, and hopefully things will have improved.

While the O2 man was fetching the new card I reflected on another birthday when I could receive no signal on the mobile phone. This was the day of the London Underground suicide bombs. I is hard to believe that was 11 years ago.

This afternoon we enjoyed, within minutes of each other, visits from Helen and from Shelly and Ron They came bearing gifts. Including Bill, each couple had brought a birthday card and presents of wine and a book, and we drank sparkling squashes on the hand-made garden chairs, of which we now have four, and one, otherwise relegated, perfectly serviceable in black plastic.

An additional gift from Helen and Bill was an intriguing bookmark, made of cork, that they had brought back from Portugal.

Ian and Becky’s present to me was a meal for the four of us at Lal Quilla. This was great fun, particularly as the staff entered so well into the spirit of the occasion. My choice of a main meal was Purple Tiger (a king prawn dish) and special fried rice. We shared onion bahjis, parka dahl, and an egg paratha. Becky drank red wine and the rest of us drank Kingfisher.

At the end the head waiter sang happy birthday and brought me a ‘cake’.

Officially Autumn

Although she does tidy up much of her refuse, when the Head Gardener has been about with the loppers and secateurs, it falls upon me, the Under Under Gardener, to clear the heaps of clippings; to transfer them to the compost and wood-burning piles; to sort them; and to cut them into manageable sections. This I did this morning after Jackie had driven off for one of her sorority lunches with Helen and Shelly.

Judging by the scent pervading this pile, the marauding cat that we hope keeps the rodents down, had liberally sprayed it with a peculiar pungency.

The rambling rose, Wedding Day, having outgrown the Agriframes arch and dared to festoon the two Japanese maples and frolic over a hebe, was given a particularly severe haircut. I console myself in the knowledge that, like mine, it will grow again.

This is all part of the autumn clear-up. It is, after all, the first official day of autumn. We are, nevertheless, still treated to the sights of summer, like

bees burrowing into crinkly poppies;

Small White butterflies fluttering everywhere and perching on verbena bonarensis;

petunias, pink striped dahlias, and geraniums;

and raindrops on sweet peas.

The rose garden is flourishing. We have left two peep-holes in the fence so our neighbours can enjoy it too.

Carpet roses, like the white Kent, are spreading nicely.

We have red hot pokers everywhere. Either they are proliferating at will, or there was too much undergrowth last year for us to notice. These are surveyed by the owl at home in the dead Snake Bark maple.

We moved the furniture and potted plants from the decking for Aaron to refurbish it. This colourful table top had held a floral display.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s lively chilli con carne and tasty mixed vegetable rice. I finished the malbec, and The Cook drank Hoegaarden.

Should I Be Concerned?

The garden was refreshed by early morning rain.

This failed to dampen the ardour of the passion flowers eyeing the red hot honeysuckle,

and gave sweet peas a welcome drink.

The rich red climbing rose Aloha,and the pale pastel bush Margaret Merrill are both in full bloom.

A comment on Houzz GardenWeb forum, posted in July 2007 states that ‘the Margaret Merrill rose was named [in 1977] after a fictitious character in British advertising, but Harkness had to track down various Margaret Merrills for permission to complete naming the rose’. Margaret Merrill was the nom de plume of a beauty advisor who helped Oil of Ulay (now Olay) sell its beauty products. If you wanted cosmetic advice you wrote to this woman.

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Chandlers Ford for her physiotherapy. I settled down to an hour with Primo Levi’s ‘The Periodic Table’, but I didn’t get very far in my hoped-for completion of this, my current book. Jackie soon emerged with a happy face. She had been told she was doing brilliantly and didn’t need to go again.

On our return we stopped for a visit to Patrick’s Patch in Beaulieu.

This is the community garden’s peak time. Marigolds, dahlias, gladioli, sunflowers and lavender are just a few of the flowers we observed as we wandered along the paths, where various imaginative scarecrows were drafted into service.

The Annual Border, with its Painted Lady runner beans, was particularly stunning and, as Jackie discovered, sweet pea scented. We didn’t see a weed anywhere.

Produce like apples and courgettes looked ripe and plump.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chilli con carne, egg fried rice, and green beans, followed by chocolate eclairs. I finished the bordeaux, whilst Jackie drank Hoegaarden, this last of which, whilst I completed my post, she took up to the rose garden for what has become a nightly drink with Alan Titchmarsh. Like many women of a certain age she is in love with the man. Should I be concerned?

Inquisitive Chicks

Rabbits are like birds. At least in our garden they are. Jackie can watch them through the windows for ages. The minute I pick up a camera they flit or scuttle off, as did our early little bunny visitor.

As will be seen from today’s photographs, the sun popped in and out of the clouds. The morning was spent driving to and from Nuffield Hospital at Chandlers Ford, for Jackie’s pre-op tests on her left knee.

This afternoon I sprayed weed-killer on various paths and the head gardener carried out much pruning. My contribution to the latter was to gather up the cuttings and place them on burning or compost heaps.

I took a short walk to the postbox alongside the disused Telephone Box that can be seen reflected among the trees on the cars that are now regularly parked in front of it.

As our earlier poppies die down, small dahlias,

and several larger, later, varieties of poppy spring up.

Day lilies have been around for a while now.

The clematis Marie Boisselet resists being trained to climb an obelisk, and trails beneath it.

The starling parents still squawk off when we approach the kitchen corner, but their offspring do not yet appear to have learned fear.

They have become quite inquisitive. Their Mum and Dad have made rather a mess of the woodwork which reveals earlier paintwork. We do know a certain amount of refurbishment is required.

A bag of still crisp prawn crackers formed the starters for what, this evening, was a genuine fusion dinner. These were left over from the Chinese takeaway set meal for two that we had enjoyed two days ago. They always give you far more than is necessary. They also give you larger quantities of the varied dishes than you can eat. Sweet and sour chicken, crispy beef, chicken and black bean sauce, beef with ginger and spring onion, and savoury rice, therefore, filled one third of our plates; left-over mashed potato, green beans, and cauliflower from last might, occupied another; and succulent fillet steaks the third. I employed the microwave and Jackie applied the frying pan. I really should have photographed this delicious melange. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, whilst I imbibed.Casillero del Diablo cabernet sauvignon reserva 2013.