dog-walkers – derrickjknight

Piet Mondrian’s Pigments

Just as the sun was thinking about sinking into Mudeford Quay today,

gulls circled the Wolf Moon,

or basked in the bay,

in which a man stood on the sandbank and another walked his dog along the reddened shingle.

Easier to focus on the reflected sunlight bouncing off glowing windows

It took me a while to regain my vision from the first picture in this post, and from others that followed.

Until the golden orb dropped behind the Sailing Club window Piet Mondrian’s pigments plastered the single pane.

One more dog walker took advantage of the low tide.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla. My main course was chicken Jaljala, Jackie’s, chicken Korma. We shared egg fried rice, egg paratha, and sag bhaji; and both drank Cobra. The food and service was as good as always..

A Dog Cart

Late this morning I published https://derrickjknight.com/2021/10/06/a-knights-tale-46-ok-how-did-you-do-it/

We then drove to Steamer Point and

brunched at the Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff. This has been our first visit since before Covid. I needed no further sustenance this evening.

Many customers dined alfresco. We were the only couple inside, because

we couldn’t find a place to ourselves.

One gentleman made short work of his ice cream.

Some visitors kayaked or swam in the albeit brisk water, turbulent waves of which

tossed spray against breakwater rocks.

A lone fisherman stood optimistically watching his line.

Small groups thronged the promenade.

Dog walkers wandered along the shingle. There is a surprise at the end of this gentleman’s lead.

An ingenious dog cart. Enlargement may help to view it.

Passing a gentleman painting his beach hut,

we bade farewell to the beach, and turned into the forest.

Ponies cropped the verges of Warnes Lane just outside Burley.

Others were to be seen alongside Forest Road,

and, further on, we listened to the squeaking of satisfied pink piglets,

and the scampering snorts of small saddlebacks in search of mast.

Frozen

I begin with this picture of Jackie’s, down the Brick Path, which I unfortunately omitted yesterday. Mea culpa.

We received a fair bit of rain overnight, but today was dry, if pretty cool, with intermittent sunny periods blown along by stiff breezes.

Our morning began with a trip to Tesco where Jackie carried out the shopping, then wheeled it to the car in a trolley, and I helped unload it into the Modus, after having read a little more of David Copperfield. I then unloaded it at home before my Chauffeuse took us on a forest drive.

During one of the duller spells we drove down Lower Pennington Lane where fresh cow parsley; burgeoning blackberry blossom; and carpets of yellow flowers dotted the fields and hedgerows beneath lowering skies. An inquisitive goat peered through a farm fence.

Looking across to the Isle of Wight we could see Hurst lighthouse and castle, distant walkers, and hang gliders welcoming the wind.

As we pulled into Longslade Bottom car park I was intrigued by voices emanating from the undergrowth. Upon inspection I met three friendly women seated on folding chairs enjoying the shelter.

Dog walkers shared the grassy slopes with ponies. By and large they were respectful of each other.

Then along came a gentleman with two dogs on leads. A small brown one barked a lot. It was loosed. It carried on barking at the ponies. Fortunately they ignored it.

I was also let loose on Bisterne Close where I photographed the woodland and its trees, lichen, moss, and fresh ferns.

A squirrel, racing between trees froze, listened, then sped on. It was so kind of it to pause for the photographer.

A young buck in a field of yellow flowers was quite unfazed by my presence.

More ponies stood among the gorse in the moorland alongside Holmsley Passage.

This evening we dined on a rack of ribs in barbecue sauce; Jackie’s delicious egg-fried rice; and tender green beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Rioja.

Sunny Intervals

Early in the day I watched Channel 4’s transmission of the enthralling second day’s play in the Test Match between India and England.

The forest was still overcast when, this afternoon, we set off for a drive.

Lanes like Bockhampton Road were quite clarty. Beside this one

a whiteness of swans occupying a field attracted my attention as, their serpentine necks sinuously swaying, they foraged in the grass and reflected in one small pool.

The next pale reflector paddled in weed soup in a seasonal pool during a sunny interval at Ibsley. When she became aware of my circling her spot, she emerged from the water and joined

her cousins on the green. I exchanged greetings with the dog walkers as they drew near.

Glowing golden gorse enlivened the landscape below Abbots Well. The second of these images containing another dog walker employing an extending lead shows the difference in light created by a sunny interval. Only the distant slopes are lit; those nearer are overshadowed by cloud.

This evening we dined on tasty smoked haddock; piquant cauliflower cheese; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots and broccoli, with which we both drank Western Cape Sauvignon Blanc 2020.

Sunlight Playing The Forest

Despite the forecast of sunny spells today we were treated to clear cerulean skies and full sunshine throughout the day.

As we set off early to Ferndene Farm shop I paused to admire Jackie’s planting of primulas and violas in front of the garage door trellis.

This was the view from the car as I waited for just a short time for the Shopping Lady to rejoin me.

Long shadows stretched across Beckley Road and the driveway to The Glen;

and knitted knotted skeins across the woodland verges beside the road to Burley, on which

Jackie parked the Modus enabling me to photograph the moorland landscape.

Joggers, cars, walkers, and cyclists competed for space. We had imagined that the rather slow driver of the red car was keeping her distance from the cyclists ahead. She was, however, no faster after those on bikes turned off.

Hightown Lane was my next point of embarkation. Again walkers, cyclists, and other vehicles vied for space on the narrow road. Voices carried some distance.

I began drinking in the delights of the clear, sparkling, stream, revealing glimpses of its bed among rippling reflections; clumps of golden daffodils; bright backlit leaves; and pendant overhanging catkins.

One of the field horses wearing a red rug revealed the need for warmth during the still very cold nights. It wasn’t that warm at 11 a.m. either.

Gnarled trees and sinuous wooden fences cast their own images beneath and beside them;

while those following the contours of mossy banks created concave and convex curves as penetrating light illuminated the soft green cushions and picked out russet autumn leaves.

During her vigil on the verge Jackie spent some time pondering who might live in a cave on the bank.

This evening we dined on further helpings of yesterday’s, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Merlot Tannat.

Proper Rain

The heavy rain that fell this morning was more welcome to us than to the influx of holidaymakers. Thinking that now was our chance to find Ferndene Farm Shop without a queue we set off in hope.

A four-way traffic control gave me ample time to photograph the lights through a wet windscreen.

After the wait our hopes were dashed. Even in pelting rain a line of bedraggled visitors stretched round the outside of the shop, so we set off for a forest drive instead.

The caravan site at Holmsley is one of a few that are closed because of Covid-19. Consequently would-be campers tend to park on the approach road when the adjacent car park is full. Ponies and cattle are no doubt appreciating the raindrops settling on their hitherto hot dry hides. One of the ponies sports a fern fascinator.

Dogs still had to be walked, some patently not very far because, despite

notices there was more dog shit than pony excreta around the edges of the parking area.

Car headlights glowed on Burley Road stretching down the hill towards the hazy landscape.

Many ambulant visitors, like these on Chapel Lane, were cheerful enough under their colourful umbrellas.

During the heatwave strings of ponies could be guaranteed to block Forest Road as they clustered together to shelter from clegs, heat, and humidity. Today they kept more Social Distance and even ignored the less prolific flies. Like the walls of concrete buildings today’s previously dry ponies all bore downward streaking water stains.

Alongside Holmsley Passage golden-browning bracken and purple heather glistened in the still driving proper rain as we made our way back home.

This evening we dined on tasty garlic and pepper coated roast chicken; herby sage and onion stuffing; crunchy carrots, firm cauliflower, tender kale; crisp Yorkshire pudding, and flavoursome gravy, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Montepuciano.

The Manure Factory

This windy, warm, and hazy afternoon Jackie drove me to Milford on Sea where the car parks are now open

although the Public Conveniences are not. The sign warning people to keep their distance applies to the empty bench.

Similar signs line the sparsely populated promenade.

Two gentlemen approached with their dogs. Only one of the owners could manage the shingle.

Boisterous billowing waves battered breakwaters and rocks while black-headed gulls flew overhead and kite surfers could be seen in the distance at Barton.

A single family group braced themselves against the breeze

as I had done earlier

while photographing the sea.

The verges along Park Lane nurtured banks of sweeping thrift, grasses, moon daises and dandelions while round the corner a tidy row of calendula lined a concrete wall.

From here we drove on to South Sway Lane where

a cock pheasant now strutted about Gimlet’s field and

across the road, fully equipped with Personal Protective Equipment, stood the horse which we believe is our manure factory. The rug protects from the cold nights we are currently experiencing; the face and ear masks keep the flies away. We carried off three bags of the animal’s prime product.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty and wholesome liver and bacon casserole; crunchy carrots; tender cabbage; and creamy swede and potato mash. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while I quaffed Valle Central reserva privada Syrah 2019.

This post is my second effort with the new editor. Despite my good friend Tangental’s efforts to guide me I have been unable to change the font.

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.

A Mating Ritual

I accompanied Jackie on her Ferndene Farm shop trip this morning.

There was no queue for the food shopping, so Jackie did that first before joining

the line of plant lovers, Masks were more in evidence today.

Jackie’s floral purchases were limited because there was only one empty plant tray and the trollies were all in use.

Afterwards we drove on to Tesco to fill up with petrol. There was no queue there either.

Ballards Lake lies alongside Fernhill Road on the outskirts of New Milton. Jackie parked first in Brook Avenue, then in Lake Grove Road while I wandered with my camera.

Residents of Brook Avenue enjoy

blooming bluebells enhancing a splendid woodland view from the fronts of their houses.

One woman seemed to be returning home from a walk with her dog.

Perhaps she had availed herself of the dog poop bin alongside the dappled footpath leading to a bridge over

a shallow stream which

in parts is quite rock dry.

The shadow in this picture is that of another bridge, the crossing of which leads into the

woodland path along which I stood aside for a couple of dog walkers who thanked me for doing so.

The stream featured here is meant to flow under Fernhill Road to link with Ballards Lake.

In fact it is so dry that a scummy surface scarcely swirls after dribbling from drying rocks beneath

the lakeside bridge, one of which posts sports

a child’s sun hat.

I watched a young woman photographing a young child on the far bank.

Later her group seemed to have spotted something – perhaps the infant had gone wandering.

The lake’s surface bore a number of reflections.

On my circumperambulation (yes, I have coined this word) I spoke to several people at a safe distance. The couple above welcomed my attention because the gentleman enjoys the same enthusiasm.

The old gold bands seen curling round the limbs of these oak boughs above the dog walkers were gently rippling reflections from the wake of mallards and their

ducklings.

I think this was a friendly thrush that greeted me. I would be grateful for any birder letting me know otherwise. (I am reliably informed by John Knifton that this is a dunnock – thanks a lot, John)

The screeching black headed gulls that dominated the orchestra around the lake seemed not so friendly.

In fact the name of this avian species is quite misleading. Their heads are chocolate brown rather than black, and even then only during the summer when their white pates develop this pigmentation.

A considerable about of squawking came from their open beaks.

Some adopted the apparently subservient prone shuffle we had seen in our pigeon day or so ago. Here was another mating ritual.

This evening we dined on a spicy pizza with fresh salad included very flavoursome Ferndene Farm Shop Isle of Wight tomatoes. Jackie drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc while I drank Dornfelder Rheinhessen dry red wine 2018.

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.