hay bales – derrickjknight

Selfie With Sir Robert

CLOCK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. REPEAT IF REQUIRED.

This afternoon we drove around the lanes to the east of the Forest. Our first port of call was the beach at Tanner’s Lane. A rowing boat lay among the rocks in the shallows.

The water further out, fronting the Isle of Wight was blue, still, and clear. Portsmouth’s Spinnaker Tower stood steady on the horizon.

Was this print evidence of the New Forest yeti?

Several couples took advantage of this balmy September day.

This pair claimed no knowledge of

the champagne glass standing on a nearby post. I tested the quality before deciding to leave it where it was.

A lovely view of the rolling hills of the Isle of Wight was available from St Leonard’s Road,

along which one of my driver’s acceptable cyclists happily pedalled. Jackie takes exception to those dressed in bum-hugging lycra with a professional air and knobbly calves.

Further on, St Leonard’s Barn

and its ruins basked in the late afternoon sunshine.

Valerian sprang from

the ancient stone walls;

dog rose hips mingled with blackberries in the hedgerows opposite;

hay bales were poised to roll across the fields;

and a pool by the wayside reflected the skies and iron fencing atop the slope above.

Nearer home we passed a Batman v Superman scarecrow contest at Classic Hair & Beauty Clinic, 40 Stopples Lane;

and I took a selfie with P.C. Robert Peel at Hordle Pharmacy, 26 Ashley Lane.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalfrezi served with onion rice. I drank Prestige de Calvet Cotes du Rhone Villages 2016. The Culinary Queen had already consumed her Hoegaarden in the Rose Garden.

Reversion

This afternoon I tackled sports. Now, please don’t imagine that that means my knee is miraculously fully recovered. I speak of reversion; not of myself, but of the horticultural variety. Variegated plants are generally selected from a sport, or mutation, of a pure green plant. The sport is then propagated by cuttings, grafting or division to retain its features. However, the mutations within these plants are not always stable and can be prone to reverting back to pure green shoots. Reversion is the name given when a cultivar known for a particular leaf shape, colour, or other striking characteristic returns to a different form found in the plant’s parentage. The term is often used to describe a variegated shrub or tree that produces non-variegated shoots.

This euonymus is a case in point. Jackie cut it right back last year, but it continues to revert. I took out the new, much stronger, green stems. This exercise left a few gaps.

It was a much hotter, equally humid, afternoon when I wandered around the garden and down to Roger’s fields and back.

Perhaps it was natural for a minute, black spotted, yellow bug to seek refuge on this snapdragon.

A verbascum towers at the eastern end of the Phantom Path;

in the former compost bed a gladiolus tangoes with a viburnum bonarensis, beyond which

lurk echinaceas.

Our lost label rose proves not to be an Aloha. We still don’t know what it is. Any ideas?

Roger’s hay bales were better lit.

I am not an expert on butterflies, but my research suggests that this very small one that, with its companions, flitted about the footpath hedgerow, tantalising me for some time before it settled, is a Small Skipper.

This evening we dined on rack of pork rib coated with barbecue sauce, and Jackie’s egg fried rice. I started on a fine bottle of Catena malbec 2013 given to me by Shelly and Ron for my birthday.

Gore Tex

The promised rain arrived today. Aaron and Robin came to finish the rose garden paving, but the weather defeated them.

I took a brief amble down to Roger’s field, where he has baled up his hay. This gloomy day demonstrates the value of sunlight in photography.

There are always a few pigeon quills, fashioned in Gore Tex, scattered on the verges of Downton Lane. According to the maker’s advertising, ‘Gore–Tex is a waterproof, breathable fabric membrane and registered trademark of W. L. Gore and Associates. Invented in 1969, Gore–Tex is able to repel liquid water while allowing water vapour to pass through, and is designed to be a lightweight, waterproof fabric for all-weather use.’

In my running days I was most grateful to Mr Gore, for this clothing afforded my sweat an egress, yet kept out the rain; although it didn’t prove to be a good idea to put his product through the washing machine.

This afternoon, on TV, I watched the clash of the titans that was the Wimbledon men’s final. The first two sets occupied two hours, each going to tie breaks, and one to each player. Just after the start of the third, our rain reached SW19, and a short interval ensued, during which I wandered out into the garden, where plants, such as

day lilies

and begonias welcomed water slipping down their throats;

and every poppy kept its head down.

That was the enforced intermission that heralded a change in the momentum of the match. Djokovic ran away with the next two sets to beat Federer 3-1.

Jackie has been unwell today, so we were unable to attend Helen and Bill’s family party. Becky and Ian popped in afterwards, bringing birthday presents for each of us from themselves, from the party hosts, and from Shelley and Ron.

After this my catering task was quite simple really. All I had to do was defrost and heat up Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi, egg fried rice, and a naan, with my share of which I finished the cabernet sauvignon.