I forgot to mention watching the cricket highlights yesterday. I’m sure that had nothing whatever to do with the fact that Australia declared their innings closed at 566 runs for 8 wickets, and England followed with 85 for 4.
In order to bid good morning to the horses in the Yeatton Cottage paddock, I took a walk along Hordle Lane to the house and back. A grass stem that had escaped the mowing of the field to the west bowed in unison with the solitary bent oak.
Many car drivers on this winding lane seem oblivious of the 40 mph speed limit. Following the normal rule of facing the oncoming traffic on such roads which lack walkways is not always possible because I cannot be seen. I therefore often cross over so I have my back to vehicles approaching on the left. Of necessity, I have developed my own set of signals for these following motorists. Flattened against the hedgerow, arms akimbo, fingers outstretched, with a nod, indicates that there is nothing approaching them round the blind bend. My right palm up, and wide open, suggests they should hang about because something is coming. This, fortunately, is generally understood, and they come to a standstill until the coast is clear.
Only one of the horses in the paddock now wears a fly mask. They all twitch their natural whisks.
On my return I finished the watering of the front garden that Jackie had begun earlier I then gathered up masses of pruning in which she was engaged. ‘I want light’ she cried, as she applied long loppers to the copper beech, the still reverting myrtle, and other overgrown shrubs. In order not to be faced with cutting up these branches when it came to burning them. I chopped them up into manageable pieces before adding them to the ever-increasing pile for the next pyre.
Butterflies fluttering around me were various whites, numerous commas,
a Red Admiral on a gladiolus,
and, trying to hide, a Gatekeeper on a cosmos.
This afternoon was spent visiting. First, Jackie drove us to Mum’s at West End. Among other subjects, we discussed this 92 year old’s plans for refurbishing her kitchen.
From Mum’s we went on to Elizabeth’s, with whom we proceeded to Margery and Paul’s. These latter two were hosting an art exhibition. Ostensibly we went to see the show, but in reality we wanted our usual enjoyable conversation with our friends.
Next stop was The Veranda Indian restaurant in Wickham. Elizabeth did the driving. The ambiance and service there is, in our experience, second to none, and the food is excellent. My choice was Lamb Lal Maas and special fried rice with a paratha. We shared an onion bhaji, and all three drank Kingfisher. My sister drove us back to her house where we boarded the Modus in which Jackie drove us home.