I have realised that the persistent discomfort I have been feeling since my catheter removal has been the consequence of an infection, which I discussed over the telephone with my GP who ordered antibiotics for us to collect after lunch.
As we left for the Pharmacy, raindrops thundered on our car roof and swept across the windscreen.
The rain continued from early morning throughout the day until a brief respite later as we returned home.
We had returned to splashing along the wet roads.
The few ponies we did see on our trip were decidedly wet.
The freshly washed woodland colours brightly glistened.
and reflecting pools were filling up again.
We have learned that when the weather is stormy gulls tend to venture further inland.
This one, complete with bag of filched chips, is perched on the Tiptoe postbox.
Tonight we dined on Parmigiana crispy chicken breasts; piquant cauliflower cheese; boiled new potatoes, carrots, green beans, and spinach, with which I drank Georges Duboeuf Fleurie 2022.
From Holmsley Passage I photographed some heather scenes for John Corden;
Dog walkers and cyclists made way for us to pass on the road.
We pulled into Smugglers Road carpark to picture standing ponies and a prone foal.
We were some way from our goal when I spotted that we were about to run out of petrol. The only chance of finding any more was to make it to the busy main road to Ringwood. Which we did. And turned left. And ran out of Petrol. Opposite a bus stop.
As we sat wondering who to call,
with the tailback building up behind us while we blocked traffic in each direction while oncoming vehicles paused to allow
those behind us to pass and continue on their way, David came to our rescue. He was on his way home from Ringwood. He turned round, drove Jackie back in the direction from which he had travelled, stopped at a garage where she bought a can and a gallon of fuel which he poured into our tank having driven her back to me sitting in the Hyundai, and waited until our engine fired up at first turn of the key. We couldn’t thank him enough. Next time we travel to Hale from whence he hails we hope to meet him again.
Ponies gathered on the green at North Gorley, and those forcing traffic onto the sward don’t seem to have moved since the 17th.
she chose very fresh and tasty blue cheese and walnut salad; I enjoyed a repeat of my last meal there:
The Full Works breakfast, with best quality ingredients, and water. In the first picture the hash brown is obscured by the authentic black pudding, and the herby sausage by the bacon in the second.
On our return through Bransgore Jackie photographed Tom and Jerry decorating a postbox.
For a late, light, supper Jackie chose asparagus soup and salad; mine was scrambled egg on toast. I drank water.
On another energy-sapping hot and humid day with a threat of thunderstorms that did not arrive it was not until mid-afternoon that, if only to benefit from the Hyundai’s air conditioning, we ventured out on a short forest drive.
Before then I had read more of The Nibelungenlied.
Vita Heathcote, born in Lymington, is a 22 year old athlete representing Great Britain, partnering 39 year old Chris Grube, starting on Saturday 3rd August at the 2024 Paris Olympics in the 470 Mixed Dinghy class.
Our anonymous yarn postbox decorator wishes her well on Pilley Street.
Pilley’s lake has reacted to our recent intense weather by turning such shallow water that currently remains a swirling rusty red.
Almost the only ponies emerging from the shelter of the forest trees we saw today were those
vying for position at the East End crossroads bus shelter. Note the salt stains on the flanks of the solitary animal.
This evening, from tables in front of the TV we dined on breaded chicken, chips, peas, and baked beans while watching the Olympic Women’s all round Gymnastic finals, then Andy Murray and Dan Evans’s quarter final tennis doubles match against Tommy Paul and Taylor Fritz.
Jackie and I each subscribe to Patient Access, being a site to test the patience of anyone, let alone patients considerably older than the designers of this facility.
The idea is to offer a secure method of ordering regular medication, presumably safe for anyone subject to excitable blood pressure, yet definitely to be avoided by valetudinarians.
Persistent, tenacious, and generally even-tempered am I, yet there is nothing more likely to blow my equanimity than a system presumably created for seniors with limited computer skills which constantly adds new hoops to leap through in order to gain admission. Today I had such a problem managing to “Set up two-factor authentication with a third-party app” from which I was timed out each time I attempted it.
What, may I ask in my ignorance, is one of those?
That was enough to spark my impatience. On this overcast afternoon following last night’s rainfall, we drove to our GP surgery where the very helpful and understanding receptionist, knowing exactly our position which was shared by themselves and so many others, took details of our requests that will provide information to be completed by the pharmacist on a prescription form. In other words we are back to the paper method.
After this, we took a short forest drive to test my eyes.
The theme of the new postbox decoration at Tiptoe escapes me. Perhaps my brain has been overtaxed.
A grazing grey pony was easy to pick out among the moorland gorse flanking Holmsley Passage
which was crossed by an ambling cow further up the hill.
We safely negotiated a pair of horse riders on Bisterne Close, where
the seasonal verge pool now carried buttercups, water buttercups, and budding irises.
This evening’s dinner consisted of further helpings of Jackie’s authentic chicken jalfrezi meal.
Comfortable air conditioning in our car belied the warmth that was to greet me each time I disembarked with my camera.
The first subject for my lens was the decorated postbox along Wootton Road, now ready for Halloween.
Perhaps both species unaware of the service the Gloucester Old Spots snuffling around pasturing ponies at North Gorley, the pigs guzzling mast left clear grass to the equines, thus saving them from acorn poisoning.
The unseasonal warmth in the air ensures that the flies are not yet done with the patient, uncomplaining, ponies.
Cyclists swung round ponies on the road, while outside Hockey’s at Gorley Lynch, motor traffic negotiated troops of donkeys.
The above photographs are all mine.
Jackie was also applying her camera, recording me and the Gloucester Old Spots on which I was focussed.
She overlooked neither hide nor heels of the grey pony that hugged the side of the Hyundai for a while.
The pony hide presented one pattern; she saw another in a gnarled tree trunk.
This evening we all dined on second sittings of yesterday’s pasta meal with more of the same beverages.
Wayback Machine helped me recover the missing portrait of Alan Titchmarsh in the first.
What is common to each is that they contain comments and images of old blogging friends who are no longer with us. Some just move on and stop posting or reading. As Pauline, The Contented Crafter, mentioned to me when we first found each other, that is OK. Often we never know the reason for disappearance. One of these stated he was no longer following after a mystifying strop.
Pauline was a generous and friendly crafter whose presents, like her bookmarks and light catchers, brightened the lives of many bloggers. Her death made her sorely missed. The same applies to Cynthia Jobin, a talented poet. Painkills2, an excellent photographer, struggled with permanent crippling pain and did eventually succumb to her ailment. Mary Tang, who grew large fruit trees in pots alongside her apartment in Sydney, has been forced to stop typing because of her condition. I do not know whether she is still alive, but she sent Jackie a mug which she treasures.
It is most helpful when people who are able, like Pauline’s daughter, Danella, let us know why such friends have suddenly become absent.
This hot afternoon, after shopping at Tesco, Jackie drove me into the forest.
Two donkeys sought shade against the side of a building in East Boldre, where
others must have rued their shaggy winter coats.
Further along the road a foal clung to his mother’s skirts when I closed the car door rather too loudly.
Shetland ponies cropped verges of Pilley Street and Jordan’s Lane
where the lake is now drying up, enough for
a pony and foal to graze where they would recently have paddled.
When the mother leading her foal thundered up from the lake bed her offspring became so frisky that I stood pointing them out to oncoming vehicles driving past.
The yarn decoration on the Pilley Hill letter box now advertises the produce that will be available at the fete on 8th of July.
Early this morning Jackie had driven Dillon and his family to Southampton airport to see him off on a trip to South Carolina for family business which will keep him away for two weeks. He was therefore unable to share our dinner of beef burgers in soft rolls layered with bacon, cheese, and Mrs Elswood’s pickled sandwich gherkins, with lashings of fried onions, and herby potato wedges prepared by Becky. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
This afternoon we took a drive out to Pilley, first to book a table at Fleur de Lys, then to have another look at the new foal. The pub was no longer serving meals and would close again in two weeks until new management took over; there was no pony in sight in the village. So we were doubly disappointed yet counted our blessings for having seen the new foal yesterday.
We turned to the Red Lion to make our evening booking.
We drove on to Holmsley, where we felt sure we would see some wild life. This was not to be, and confirmed our growing feeling that ponies at least enjoy a siesta on either side of our lunchtime.
Although some could be seen on distant moorland through the trees alongside Bisterne Close, trilling birdsong was the only sign of life in the woodland.
I wandered among shade-patterned and nibbled trunks with mossy roots;
fallen tree remnants with peeling bark;
decaying branches contributing to the ecology;
and a teepee erected as a shelter for small creatures of all kinds.
The seasonal pond now sports flowing kingcups and iris shoots.
By the time we returned home via Holmsley Passage the previously empty gorse landscapes were populated by grazing ponies, others of
which foraged among grasses on the lower slopes.
The postbox outside the cottage on Wootton Road is ready for the weekend’s Coronation of King Charles III and Queen Camilla.
This evening we all dined on excellent fare with friendly service at the aforementioned Red Lion at Pilley where Flo and I enjoyed battered haddock, chips, and peas; Jackie, Cajun chicken burger, chips, and salad; and Dillon steak and ale pie; we all shared onion rings. Jackie and Dillon drank Peroni; Flo, Apple juice; and I, Ringwoods forty-niner. We then returned home for Flo’s delicious banana cake and clotted cream.
Knowing that hosepipe bans were to be imposed on Hampshire and the Isle of White today, we were relieved to learn that bans were determined by the water companies. Our supplier is Bournemouth Water, which has not yet ordered a ban. I celebrated with
a gallery of garden views.
Flo and Dillon continued clearing, planting, and watering this afternoon.
Jackie drove me to Lymington to buy more photographic printing paper, then to take a short forest drive.
The anonymous craftswoman who decorates the postbox on Pilley Hill has
produced a theme for our friend, Jessie.
Everywhere bracken is browning; heather is purpling; blackberries are ripening early, like these along Norley Wood Road.
Cattle were in no hurry as they ambled nonchalantly along Sowley Lane. Drivers had the choice of moseying in their wake, passing along the parched rock-hard verge, or simply waiting patiently. These were very big, thudding animals. I rather hoped they wouldn’t tread on my sandalled feet.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent cottage pie topped with fried potatoes; tender spring greens and green beans, and crunchy carrots, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, Dillon drank water, and I drank more of the Syrah.
Today Nick applied first coats of paint to the Garden Room.
In the meantime, with minor assistance from me, Jackie burnt the garden refuse unsuitable for composting.
Later this afternoon Jackie and I took a short forest drive.
Along Forest Road a pair of ponies and foals set off into the shrubbery as I walked across to them with a camera round my neck.
Another foal clambered to its feet as I approached, and sought the comfort of its mother.
I spoke to the owner of a frisky spaniel and suggested that it might disturb the foals. He replied that she was a good girl and would not worry the ponies. I had to acknowledge that she was not doing so at the moment.
We stopped along Wilverley Road where I did not disturb another mother and baby.
A red postbox remains outside Postbox Cottage in Wootton Road. It has been decorated with a yarn crown to celebrate Queen Elizabeth II’s Platinum Jubilee.
This evening we all dined on Papa John’s pizzas, with which Jackie and Ian drank Hoegaarden, Becky drank Diet Coke, and I finished the Durif Shiraz, while Flo abstained.
