Pink Seas

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Yesterday I finished reading ‘An Orderly Man’, the third volume of Dirk Bogarde’s autobiography. Incidentally, Elizabeth informs me that these first editions fetch up to £150 each on various internet sites.
This volume deals with the author’s work with various international directors and his blossoming as a writer.
Elizabeth and Jacqueline left after lunch to collect Mum from hospital and settle her in at home. Jacqueline is to stay overnight with her.
Meanwhile, Jackie and I went for a drive.
 

We stopped at Sandy Down to admire the splendid autumn reds and golds.

The silhouetted confetti descending from the skies was revealed to be rapidly falling leaves.

 St Andrew’s Church at Tiptoe, still ensures that we will not forget those who died fighting for our future in the First World War.

Some time ago, Jackie had stumbled upon Tutton’s Well at Sanpit whilst surfing the net for something else. She drove me there as a surprise. The tablet photograph tells the story of this historic phenomenon. It seems too much of a coincidence that a nearby village is called Purewell, but I cannot trace a connection.

We then visited Mudeford Quay and Harbour where a perching gull secured an excellent viewpoint from which to observe boisterous waves buffeting bobbing buoys.

Other gulls flanked skeins of geese honking overhead

Moody skies permitted the sun an occasional appearance.

Shortly after sundown pink seas reflected rosy clouds above.

Elizabeth arrived home soon after we did. She brought positive news about Mum’s immediate comfortable return to her familiar surroundings.
This evening we dine on Jackie’s excellent beef pie with deliciously meaty gravy; new potatoes; crisp cauliflower, carrots and tender green beans. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while Elizabeth and I drank Chateau Pinenc Minervois 2017.
 
 

Two Rooms

Mulligatawny soupThe little golden birds that flitted about our windows in today’s glorious sunshine, whilst we enjoyed our super spicy mulligatawny lunch revealed themselves to be autumn leaves frolicking in the wind. They were still swirling around me as I set off in really blustery blasts to walk to Hazel Hill, where Jackie picked me up en route to Totton for another grand Christmas shop.  Reminiscent of the bees some were trapped in my clothing as I folded myself up to fall into the passenger seat.

Leaves falling from sky

Falling foliage filled the skies like plumage bursting from a pillow fight; plummeted to the ground; paused when plucked by a cross-wind;Tree and falling leaves sped on, and dropped again. Leaf suspendedEven when apparently safely landed they could be whisked up and transported elsewhere, skipping and falling over each other like children freed from school, or stampeding like lemmings across the tarmac.

Being stripped of their glorious garments as I write, the trees that so recently bore splendid autumnal robes will be bare in a day or two.  Hazel HillAlready the shapes of the forest survivors are changing as their skeletons are revealed.

Hit your brakesAnother of the posters I mentioned yesterday carries a more startling message, but you would still need to leave your car to read it, and especially to see the horse.

We had another successful shopping trip, discovering an excellent art materials outlet and finding some treasures in Lidl’s central aisles.

As mentioned a couple of days ago, Vivien and I began our married life in 18 Bernard Gardens.  We had two rooms, one of which was a kitchen.  Only later, when I returned alone with Michael, did I move into a flatlet at the top of the house recently vacated by Mr. and Mrs. Egan and their two children. In December 1963 John Egan had not been born. Mrs. Egan, Frances  12.63Mr. Egan, Frances  12.63 Frances was their first child and, for that Christmas, fifty years ago, they asked me to photograph each of them with their little girl who was a good playmate for Joseph. Those pictures are the next two in the ‘posterity’ collection.

!8 Bernard Gardens had been bequeathed to my father by his Auntie Mabel.  A very large house in Wimbledon, it had several tenants which my parents kept on. Joe Jasmy eventually accompanied them when they moved to Morden.  It was his cousin who had moved out just before Vivien and I needed somewhere for a while. The Egans were the other residents.

This evening we enjoyed Jackie’s sausage and bacon casserole, crisp vegetables, and duchesse potatoes masquerading as browned macaroons.  Here a plug for the bacon that enhances these casseroles is in order.  It is Sainsbury’s cooking bacon, which comes in thick toothsome chunks.  It is well recommended, but if you use it, no more salt will be needed.  Our sweet was a lemon merangue pie my maternal grandmother would have been proud of.  And that is saying something.  Jackie had the last glass of Palastri and I finished the Roc des Chevaliers.