Temporary Service

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Soon after dawn this morning pink tinged indigo clouds slid across a bright blue background.

Within the hour, like the roof at Wimbledon, a slate grey canopy was stretched across the skies, and by the time Jackie drove me out to the bank at New Milton steady rain had set in for the day. We drove on to the Milford Medical Centre to make an appointment for Ian whose infection lingers on. We also collected a ‘Temporary Service’ form for him to complete, and took it back later.

The NHS Temporary Service is one of the invaluable benefits of our national medical service. This enables a visiting person taken ill away from home to avail themselves of medical services. Ian was seen on time and prescribed antibiotics which he collected at the adjacent pharmacy.

This evening we dined on our second helpings of Chinese takeaway delights supplemented by Hoisin spare ribs marinaded in Peking style sauce. Jackie and Ian drank respectively Staropramen beer from Prague, and Asahi from Tokyo; whilst I drank Cabalié 2015 Red Catalan wine. It’s amazing how cosmopolitan we have become since the end of WW2.

Rain Stops Planting

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It was Jackie who was up with the dawn this morning.

She was struck by the frost on the Modus whilst the cherry was blooming, as the early sun lit the field behind the oak-lined hedge.

The Castle Bench also had its share of white coating, although the sun had not yet reached the back.

By the time we drove off to buy 15 more packs of compost from Lidl, a ladybird (or ladybug if you are across The Pond) had been coaxed out to bask on euphorbia.

We dug three bags of the compost into another section of the Palm Bed, and, until driven in by needle-sharp chilled rain, began inserting plants Jackie bought yesterday.

These evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious steak pie, new potatoes, and crunchy carrots, cabbage and cauliflower. She drank Blanche de Namur and I drank Axis Margaret River cabernet sauvignon 2014.

Steamrollers

Despite the promising dawn this morning,

and the generally bright, if cold, day, hailstones ricocheted off my window panes as I scanned another batch of colour slides I made earlier -in 1977 to be precise.

That June Jessica, Matthew, Becky and I spent a weekend with our friend Carole in Ipswich.

The two children were happy taking turns in Carole’s hammock.

The following month I attended a steam fair in Mitcham.

This was the wheel of a steamroller

that carried its own oilcan.

Such vehicles were responsible for smoothing out the road surfaces of my youth. Many’s the time we all dashed out into the street to watch and listen to the clouds of steam rising above the toffee-like tarmac being rolled out under the three whopping wheels.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjlTAzFpBzc&w=420&h=315]

Enthusiasts painstakingly nurture these splendid, lumbering, giants of the road and display them at fairs across the country. This one was made by Aveling & Porter, the first successful manufacturers.

At the beginning of September, we attended the annual Soho Festival, where we were entertained by

dancers from The Philippines,

and exponents of Korean martial arts. When, having emitted the required sounds, this expert brought his arm down on the breeze blocks each one in the stack was neatly cut into two. Don’t try this at home.

Always popular, the spaghetti-eating competition attracted its usual audience. I console myself with the thought that the scowls in evidence here were prompted by the self-inflicted torture the contestants were experiencing, rather than being a response to my lens.

Gypsy Joe, on the end of the table, was, to the locals at least, a well-known Soho photographer.

This evening Jackie and I finished yesterday’s Chinese takeaway, followed by Black Forest gateau. I drank Reserve des Tuguets madiran 2012

Soil Transfusion

An early bird atop the oak across Christchurch Road admired this morning’s dawn sky which presaged a fine day.

And so it was. Warm enough to put the washing out.

My meagre task of the day was to begin the ongoing battle with the triffid invasion from our neighbour, North Breeze.

It is important to tackle the aliens early enough to prevent them from rooting on our side of the ramshackle border, as had this bramble.

When they burst through the greenhouse glass, as they did in the film (see the above link), then we will surely need to watch out.

It is a sad aspect of this jungle that it was once a wonderful garden, where the ghosts of such as

this rose,

this fruit tree,

this camellia,

and this magnolia, battle through to the light.

North Breeze neighbours the whole of the West side of our property, and turns the corner along the North side of the Back Drive,

where, watched by a sparrow,

Jackie was putting the finishing touches (just for the moment) to her creative planting.

Another regular operation she performs, on which she was engaged later, is soil transfusion. Much of the soil in the garden is rather anaemic and needs replenishing. Here, the surgeon has cut out a poorly section, removed the spent matter, and inserted a healthy supply.

She will then sift through the choked plants she has carefully preserved, extracting the smelly allium bulbs, and replant what she wishes to keep.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalrezi with savoury rice and parathas. She drank Hoegaarden whilst I drank Kingfisher.

Preparing For Visitors

Travelling into the first streaks of dawn this morning, the usual commuter traffic sped along Christchurch Road in the direction of Lymington;

whilst in our garden the aged gazebo has flecked the clematis Cirrhosa purpurascens with rusty freckles

The proprietor of Fagan’s menswear shop in New Milton has occasionally fitted me from her parents’ outlet, Hunt’s, for big and tall men, in Boscombe. As regular readers will know, the last jacket she produced wasn’t quite big enough. Jackie therefore drove me to Boscombe, where, clearly one of Hunt’s smaller customers, I was able to buy two jackets and order a suit.

This town, now a suburb of Bournemouth, still boasts a fine, sandy beach. As it was a fine, springlike, morning we diverted to the beach.

Benches on the clifftop were occupied by basking companions.

A long zigzagged path led down to the beach. Leaving Jackie on a bench conveniently situated halfway down, I continued to investigate. I walked along to the pier, back up a similar path to the top, and through Bournemouth Rotary Club’s sponsored garden to our parking spot.

On the way down I was intrigued by a collection of inactive heavy plant on the sandy beach. This, I learned, was an effort to reclaim the sand for the summer’s visitors.

I noticed that there was a useful gap in the row of beach huts where a woman slowly pushing a buggy would eventually appear. After waiting for what seemed an age, I got the shot, but the inevitable happened. Masquerading as the proverbial bus, a gentleman emerged from the opposite direction.

I then met a couple ascending the slope. They told me what was happening, and why there was no current activity. Progress on the project is governed by the tides, so the men worked from 10 p.m. last night until 7 o’clock this morning, and would resume at 2 p.m. During this stage they will refurbish the groynes (no, Mr. WordPress, not groins). When that is complete, dredging of sand from beneath the waves will commence. It is expected that enough sand to reach the level of the promenade will be shifted by the month of May. The structure in the distance is the pier.

I was quite lucky to make this photograph. I turned off the camera in order to retract the lens, poked it through the wire mesh you see on the right, turned it on again, and pointed it hopefully at my intended subject. I only needed to straighten the final image a little bit.

It wasn’t long before I discovered that this ingenuity had been unnecessary (It was my Dad’s favourite joke to get me to spell it – as in ‘unnecessary, spell it’ – we always found it necessary to humour him).

Eventually, you see, the barrier came to an end, and it was possible to walk round to the machines;

to delight in the rust colour and textures of the smooth-worn grabbers,

and the weathering of the pointed timber piles.

The occasional beach hut, along the stretch leading to the pier, was being opened up.

The steep, scrub-laden, bank between these huts and the zigzag path was being cleared by a pair of goats.

I was most impressed by the final spring-cleaning effort. This cheerful pair were scrubbing the railings on the path up by Honeycombe Beach.

Water was collected in buckets from a tap further up the slope.

Local Chinese takeaway set meals for two always last us two days. This evening was our second helping of yesterday’s, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I made further inroads into the malbec.

Sunset On Christchurch Bay

A lilac dawn made way to grey skies for most of the day which, because of the need to stay in for the Central Heating engineer, I spent reading an intriguing novel on which I shall report when I have finished it, probably tomorrow.

Within two hours of his being called, Vince visited, pronounced the death of the leaking radiator, went off to buy a replacement, and fitted it. The unpleasant smell has receded as the carpet has dried.

There not being a second to lose, a few minutes before sunset Jackie’s little Modus hurtled us down to Hordle Cliff car park to capture the constantly changing phenomenon over Christchurch Bay.

These shots looking West were,

interspersed with those to the East, taken in rapid succession.

What is fascinating about these sky-scapes is the difference between the western view containing the sun, and the eastern facing it.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s choice chicken curry, an egg paratha, vegetable bhajis and samosas, with savoury rice. My meal was supplemented by The Dorset Naga Chilli & Smoke Garlic Jam, that Mother Claus had placed in my Christmas stocking. The Cook drank Hoegaarden and I drank Kingfisher.

Mah Jongg

Today’s fine weather lived up to the promise of the dawn skies on Christchurch Road.

Yvonne’s recent post in Hello World, prompted me to an exchange about the Lincoln imp, about which the Lincoln Cathedral website has this to say:

‘A HISTORY OF THE LINCOLN IMP

Posted on December 16th, 2011 |

TODAY THE LINCOLN IMP SITS CROSS-LEGGED ON A PILLAR IN THE CATHEDRAL’S ANGEL CHOIR FOR ALL TO SEE.

Tales of how he came to be perched there have emerged over time. There are several versions of the story however all of them share the same basic plot: Satan sent the imp to Lincoln Cathedral to could cause trouble. The imp carried out his orders, and began destroying the Angel Choir. When an angel appeared to prevent him causing further mayhem, the imp jumped up onto the pillar and threw rocks at the angel. In order to put a stop to his mischievousness, the angel turned the little imp to stone.

Some versions of the imp story date to the 14th century and are contemporary with the construction of the Angel Choir. The presence of the imp in the Cathedral acts as a moral symbol and is a constant reminder that ultimately good will triumph over evil.

Lincoln’s imp is a well known emblem of the Cathedral and the city, to the extent it has been adopted as the symbol of Lincoln and by the 1930s was established as the nickname of the local football club. The imp began a commercial life in the late 19th century, when local jewellers James Usher and Son began advertising a range of ‘charming and very appropriate souvenirs of Lincoln’ featuring the imp. Lincoln imp merchandise is still available today in the Cathedral’s shop.

Recently Lincoln Cathedral received a surprise when a carved wooden replica of the famous imp was received through the post – all the way from Western Australia! To add to the mystery, the letter accompanying the imp was tantalisingly brief, stating that it was being returned as its custodian had died and that it was removed on behalf of the cathedral during one of the wars. Experts in the Cathedral’s Works Department believe the imp is a Victorian copy and is at least 100 years old. The Young Journalists from Monks Abbey Junior School are due to investigate the mystery of the wandering imp, and their report will be online soon as a Highlight of the Week.’

My regular readers will know that, for 20 years, I set cryptic crosswords under the pseudonym ‘Mordred’. One of the most complex appeared in the Crossword magazine Number 284 of December 2001.

The preambles and clues of this reproduction can be ignored by most of you. The final result spells out who has been ‘Up to Mischief’, and his current location.

Becky spoke this morning about a Mah Jongg game of mine that she remembered playing with in Soho with Jessica in the 1970s. She wondered what had happened to it. As she is now playing the game on line, and really appreciated the quality of this set I was pleased to give it to her.

The small photograph inset under the glass of the table in this picture is of a very young Flo, playing Mary at her infant school.

We all lunched at a packed Beachcomber cafe in Barton on Sea, where the pink sky was returning. Ian walked there, and Becky drove the rest of us.

Once more we dined on Jackie’s delicious Christmas curries and parathas; and Becky’s savoury rice. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank El Sotillo Spanish red wine. Becky’s choice was Toro Loco rose 2014, and Ian’s Grolsch.

The Run Up To Christmas

Such is the speed of light changes, especially at this time of the year, that, in the two minutes it took me to sling on a dressing gown, get downstairs, and grab the camera this morning, the completely red dawn sky had streaked, but still looked dramatic.

Today the usual division of labour between Jackie and me applied as we continued the run up to Christmas. The creatively practical member of the partnership decorated the tree, and the administrator wrote the cards.

The last collection is at 4.45 p.m. As I walked to the post box in the dark, I noticed that a couple of our neighbours have also festooned their facades with festive lights.

This evening we dined at The Royal China restaurant in Lymington, where we enjoyed our usual plentiful meal with very friendly service. We both drank Tsingtao beer.

I also had the opportunity to photograph the ‘Christmas tree’ formed from lights forming streamers suspended from a star-topped maypole. I had forgotten my camera when we were here yesterday.

Aberfan

Despite temperatures in double centigrade figures, apart from the enticing dawn skies, today was very dull with gale force winds. This meant that our afternoon drive around the forest was not conducive to photography. We finished up Christmas shopping in Brockenhurst.

Before that, I scanned another batch of negatives from the 1983 North Wales holiday.

It is perhaps appropriate to begin with mist rising at sunrise across a valley in Corwen.

Later views across the land were much clearer.

Here, Matthew, Sam, and Becky explore the fields around the farmhouse at which we were staying;

and Louisa is enthralled by something Matthew has pointed out.

Blending so well with the rugged hillsides were the rusting metal of a car scrap yard,

and the abandoned artefacts of a disused slate mine, itself adding heaps to the mountain terrain.

In the foreground of this picture, Becky carries Louisa, and Jessica leads Sam towards another visitor in the doorway of a mine building.

It was only in revisiting these images of terraced and semi-detached houses, perhaps once the homes of quarry workers, that I thought of Aberfan.

‘The Aberfan disaster was a catastrophic collapse of a colliery spoil tip in the Welsh village of Aberfan, near Merthyr Tydfil, on 21 October 1966, killing 116 children and 28 adults. It was caused by a build-up of water in the accumulated rock and shale, which suddenly started to slide downhill in the form of slurry.

Over 40,000 cubic metres of debris covered the village in minutes, and the classrooms at Pantglas Junior School were immediately inundated, with young children and teachers dying from impact or suffocation. Many noted the poignancy of the situation: if the disaster had struck a few minutes earlier, the children would not have been in their classrooms, and if it had struck a few hours later, the school would have broken up for half-term.

Great rescue efforts were made, but the large numbers who crowded into the village tended to hamper the work of the trained rescue teams, and delayed the arrival of mineworkers from the Merthyr Vale Colliery. Only a few lives could be saved in any case.

The official inquiry blamed the National Coal Board for extreme negligence, and its Chairman, Lord Robens, for making misleading statements. Parliament soon passed new legislation about public safety in relation to mines and quarries.’ (Wikipedia, on which there is much more information.)

This is one of the abiding memories of my young adulthood, and, indeed, parenthood. The whole of the UK, and possibly much of the world, was in shock, especially because the school had borne the brunt.

Succulent pork loins baked with a mustard and almond topping; piquant cauliflower cheese; mashed potato; and crisp carrots, Brussels sprouts, and green beans were the items on our dinner plates this evening. We enjoyed eating them. Jackie finished the chardonnay, and I started on a bottle of Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2015.

I’ve Received An Award

There was not much sunshine today, so it paid off to have been up and dawn to watch its pink tints filtering across the road, turning the cool blue exterior of the house into a warm watercolour, and piercing a new pair of windows into my study wall. An amble round the garden revealed

two different deutzias;

a variety of verbena;

and a quantity of aquilegias from seed scattered last autumn.

This clematis Niobe, now thriving against the front fence, was a spindly twig trampled into gravelly soil when we arrived a year ago. It has responded well to Jackie’s winter care.

We have a saying which I had never understood until meeting Priscilla. This is ‘smelling like a petunia’, used to describe someone wearing perhaps too much perfume. Almost very variety of the range of cultivated versions of the plant has had the scent bred out of it.

Priscilla, however, carries the pristine aroma.

I was pleasantly surprised yesterday evening to receive:from Alex Raphael, who certainly deserved one himself. Thank you Alex.

As part of the award, I have to say 7 things about me and nominate 15 other cool bloggers.

Here goes:

1. I will be 73 in July, and am enjoying a full and active life, qualified somewhat by 7 below.

2. I had secure and stable childhood which gave me the strength to survive several adult bereavements, all of which have contributed to who I am today. For example, being widowed and a single parent at 22 brought about an entire change of career.

3. I have 5 children by three different wives, two of whom have died. To date there are 8 grandchildren.

4. My interests include art, literature and photography.

5. It is fascinating how my enthusiasms have changed over the years. Having been a keen sportsman of generally average ability, I now don’t even know who is playing what. Similarly, I set top level cryptic crosswords for twenty years, until losing interest three years ago. Blogging has taken over – for as long as it may last.

6. Having spent a lifetime living and/or working in London, I am enjoying retirement between The New Forest and the south coast.

7. A problem with my right knee has curtailed my long walks for the moment, but I am an optimist, and hope to resume them in due course.

Of all the awards which float around WordPress, Alex has chosen the one I would most have coveted. This is because I do try to vary my material.

I follow almost 200 other blogs, but, I cannot nominate 15 for versatility. Sticking to that criterion, and avoiding those Alex has already nominated, this is my list:

Baffled Baboon

ireland2day: according to my lens

Implied Spaces

Dark Pines Photo

Life is But This

The World according to Dina

handmade. homegrown. beautiful life

The Proto Star

Oak Trees Studio

Of course I couldn’t follow the instructions without technical help from Alex through an e-mail. Thank you for that too, Alex. Patiently and carefully, Aaron made further impressive progress in laying the paths for the new rose garden. The succulent piece of pork Jackie had bought a couple of days ago was far to big for yesterday’s meal. She therefore cut it in half and cooked the second for our dinner tonight. Boiled potatoes, carrots and cabbage were served with it. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Malbeck.