This morning Jackie drove me to Wessex Photography in Lymington to collect another batch of printing paper, and on to Pilley to investigate the state of the old quarry lake.
All was silent save the occasional distant bird call and traffic traversing Jordan’s Lane as I stepped out onto the stony, gnarled surface of the bed pitted and cracked from the best part of a month with no water.
There was no apparent sign of life on a landscape inviting NASA’s probing analysis.
As I turned to leave this potentially ankle-twisting terrain,
I discovered that slowly, soundlessly, two pairs of desperate ponies had arrived to attempt to prise some nourishment from their empty larder.
Only one of these creatures seeking a drink sniffed, curled up her nose, and left untasted the smear of stagnant pea soup that was all that remained of their customary liquid refreshment. She settled for a mud foot-bath.
I spent the afternoon completing the printing of Karen and Barry’s wedding pictures.
This evening we dined on succulent roast lamb; crisp roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and broccoli; tender runner beans, and meaty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden; Dillon, Ribena, and I, more of the Rasteau.