This morning we stacked the Hyundai to the gunwales with more bags of garden refuse and a large aluminium container. One of the bags contained the roots of the felled bay tree, the stump of which bears the initials of Aaron, Mark, and Steve who rid us of the tree. The last named now works at Efford Recycling Centre and helps us a great deal when we unload our garden refuse.
Later, I finished reading Agatha Christie’s ‘The Under Dog’ which I will review soon.
On our return from the tip we noticed a pumpkin display drawing attention to the sale of eggs from a resident of Christchurch Road which pointed us towards Burley later the afternoon.
On the way up Holmsley Passage we followed a cycling family before
watching the efforts of another driver persuading ponies to scarper.
Burley was in full witchy celebration mode. The first eight of these images all bearing titles in the gallery are mine. The next nine by Jackie, who also photographed
a clock to confirm our location.
This evening we dined on delicious smoked haddock cheese centred fishcakes from Lidl; Jackie’s piquant cauliflower and leek cheese and crunchy carrots, with which I finished the Fleurie.
We enjoyed a pleasant morning with Louisa and her Cockapoos, Geri and Coco.
After lunch my daughter and I took the dogs on a forest drive.
The first stop was on Wootton Common.
Louisa photographed me venturing to cross the road to join them,
where they enjoyed splashing in the sodden pools.
Louisa parked the car beside the stream at Holmsley Passage and took her pets for a walk across the moorland and back.
I remained beside the car and focussed on the stream and on the landscape.
Coco kept me company on our return home.
Later this afternoon Helen and Bill joined us for more convivial conversation.
Elizabeth joined us for dinner which consisted of Jackie’s wholesome chicken stewp with focaccia brought by Louisa. I drank more of the Shiraz and my sister drank FeeDamm non-alcoholic lager.
On this cooler, pleasant, summer afternoon, after a visit to Ferndene Farm Shop for the purchase of vegetables and salad ingredients,
we took a forest drive via Beckley Common Road.
After passing ponies in shade alongside Pound Lane, we turned off into a car park whence we admired the
landscape with heather
and a variety of daisy slightly larger than normal but smaller than marguerites.
Further down the road we turned into Burley which
was pulsating with visitors.
Cattle having slaked their thirst in the stream under the ford on Forest Road wandered slowly up the road frustrating some drivers while
ponies further along sheltered beneath the usual trees,
adopting their customary head to tail fly whisk technique.
This grey seemed to have caused a kerfuffle resulting in thudding head butts, sudden scattering, and clopping on the tarmac. I was pleased I was no nearer these heavy animals whose hooves could have landed on my sandalled feet.
Along Holmsley Passage on our way home we followed a cyclist climbing the hill. When he reached the top, he pulled over to the gravel on his left and we exchanged waves.
This evening we dined on baked smoked haddock; piquant cauliflower cheese; tender green beans; boiled new potatoes and carrots al dente, with which I finished the Tempranillo.
This morning Jackie visited Helen and Bill, delivering our brother-in-law’s birthday present.
Driving via Holmsley Passage she returned with photographs of very wet ponies and a windscreen dripping with raindrops. The rain continued throughout the unseasonably cold day.
“A standing joke worldwide is the English preoccupation with the weather. So how did it come to pass that the English summer should be determined by a long dead Anglo-Saxon Bishop?
“St Swithun’s Day (or ‘Swithin’ as he is also known) is the feast day of a ninth century Anglo-Saxon Bishop of Winchester who died in 862 AD. Swithun was born in the Kingdom of Wessex (an Anglo-Saxon Kingdom in the South-West and the precursor to the unified Kingdom of England) and educated in Winchester, the Kingdom’s capital.
“Little is definitively known about Swithun’s life although he is said to have been the spiritual adviser of Æthelwulf, King of Wessex, who donated much of his royal land to Swithun to build and restore numerous churches. Swithun has also been suggested as the tutor of Æthelwulf’s son Alfred, which would fit chronologically at least, since Alfred was born in 849 AD. Alfred (right) then went on to become the mighty ruler of Wessex and the only English monarch to date to be bestowed with the title ‘the Great’, so a good job well done by Swithun you could say!
“With his link to the town of Winchester, Swithun is unsurprisingly well remembered across the south of England and particularly in Hampshire. However, St Swithun is also honoured as far afield as Norway, where he is commemorated at Stavanger Cathedral. St Swithin’s Lane in London and St. Swithun’s quadrangle at Oxford University’s Magdalen College are also named in memory of the saint. His feast day is also familiar to fans of David Nicholl’s popular novel ‘One Day’, which has now been adapted for the big screen (with surely one of the most questionable Yorkshire accents of all time courtesy of Anne Hathaway!).
“However, whilst Swithun was a popular bishop, his only known miracle during his lifetime was the repair of a basket of broken eggs, dropped by a flustered lady of his parish on unexpectedly encountering the Bishop. His enduring legend is due to events after his death on 2 July 862.
“With his dying breath Swithun is said to have requested that his final resting place be outside, where his grave could easily be reached by both members of the parish and the rainfall from the heavens. Swithun’s wishes were met for over 100 years. However, in 971 when the monastic reform movement had been established and religion was once again at the forefront, Æthelwold of Winchester, the current Bishop of Winchester, and Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, decreed that Swithun was to be the patron saint of the restored Cathedral at Winchester where an impressive shrine was built for him.
“Swithun’s body was removed from its simple grave and interred in the new Cathedral on 15 July 971. A shrine to the Saint remains in the modern Winchester Cathedral to this day.
“According to legend, forty days of terrible weather followed, suggesting St Swithun was none too happy with the new arrangements! Ever since, it has been said that the weather on 15 July supposedly determines the weather for the next forty days, as noted in the popular Elizabethan verse:
“St Swithin’s day if thou dost rain For forty days it will remain St Swithin’s day if thou be fair For forty days will rain na mair”
(As rain pelted down on my head, shoulders, and camera this soggy morning, I received a sense of what we are in for. One picture will perforce suffice).
“Less spectacularly, the superstition may have evolved from pagan beliefs around the changing weather of the Midsummer period. This can be explained today by the patterns of the wind currents bringing weather fronts across the British Isles, known as jet streams. When the jet stream falls to the north of Britain, high pressure systems (usually associated with clear skies and calm weather) are able to move in. In contrast, when the jet stream lies over or beneath the British Isles, arctic air and low pressure weather systems are more common and bring cloudy, rainy and windy weather. Indeed, across Europe there are Saints who are believed to exert a similar influence over the weather, such as St. Medard, St. Gervase and St. Protais in France on 8th and 19th June and St. Godelieve in Flanders on 6th July.” (https://www.historic-uk.com/CultureUK/St-Swithuns-Day/)
This evening we dined on Jackie’s liver and bacon casserole; crisp roast potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm Brussels sprouts; and tender green beans, with which I drank Christian Patat Appassimento Rosso 2022 which I was given at yesterday’s party.
On a grey overcast morning, after Jackie shopped at Nisa Local in Stopples Lane, we took a forest drive on which I remained in the car while producing pictures of the journey. This was the first time I had left the house since my operation on 25th.
Nisa is fundamentally a refurbished subsidiary of the previous Coop shop. It is no longer a cooperative but happy to sell produce of the Coop. I’m sure there is some logical process to this.
Apart from having removed the useful hole in the wall cash machine, and changing the frontage, the outlet looks pretty similar to me, although as I said I remained in the vehicle while a gentleman leant on the railings while he enjoyed a phone conversation.
A determined cyclist made his way up the steeply undulating Holmsley Passage.
Further down we passed a large rambling wild rose and a damp moorland landscape bearing cotton grass.
From my passenger seat I enjoyed the sight of splendid magnolia blooms in someone’s garden; wild woodbine, rowan berries, and bramble blossom; and a five barred gate to an upland field.
Ponies, foals, and cattle had begun to gather sheltering along Forest Road, causing chaos by hindering the traffic.
The powerfully heady scent of privet rising above the hedgerow along Beckley Common Road permeated the air around and within our car.
This evening we all dined on King’s House Chinese takeaway fare, the portions providing second helpings for tomorrow.
We spent the morning in Southampton General Hospital in order for me to have everything tested to see if I was fit for a general anaesthetic for the biopsy set for Tuesday 25th.
Bodily fluids were extracted; internal and external structures and organs were examined; chest hair was shaved to provide points for the application of electrodes; heart and lungs were listened to; surprise was once more expressed at my “perfect blood pressure” (the doctor was 26 and said it was the same as hers) and the paucity of any regular medication; DNA swabs were taken; height and weight measured; family history, including everyone relevant, and all operations under anaesthetic in my own life, beginning with tonsillectomy in 1947, was closely examined and documented. I can only assume I passed so I won’t feel anything on Tuesday.
After lunch we took a forest drive.
Anther photographer watched ponies and a foal on Holmsley Passage. Enlarging the first picture in this gallery will reveal tufts of cotton grass which speckles the boggy moorland sections at this time; the leaves under the rippling stream and the pool on the verge indicate that this terrain has the perfect conditions for its growth.
Further along the Passage a young stag crossed the road and disappeared into the bracken. Note the temporary repairs to the nibbled edges. of the tarmac.
Ponies are beginning to shelter under the trees along Forest Road in anticipation of a further influx of flies.
While I was photographing these ponies, bellowing and thudding calves began running up the road in search of their parents, some of whom accompanied them back down again.
This evening we dined on a meaty pork rib rack in barbecue sauce; wholesome mushroom rice; creamy mashed potato and swede; tender runner beans and spinach, with which I drank more of the Alentejano.
On another day of unrelenting fine drizzle Jackie and I deposited the next carload of garden refuse into the local dump now termed the Efford Recycling Centre.
Potholes: Roads in England and Wales at ‘breaking point’
The AIA’s annual report found that 47% of local road miles were rated as being in a good condition, with 36% adequate and 17% poor.
The survey also found that average highway maintenance budgets increased by 2.3% in the 2023-24 financial year compared with the previous 12 months.
But the impact of rising costs due to inflation meant local authorities “effectively experienced a real-terms cut”.
Image caption, A sign on the Daventry to Long Buckby road claims the town should be twinned with the Grand Canyon
Meanwhile, the amount needed to fix the backlog of local road repairs has reached a record £16.3bn, up 16% from £14bn a year ago.
AIA chairman Rick Green said: “Local authorities have a bit more money to spend this year but the impact of rising costs due to inflation means they have actually been able to do less with it.
“Couple this with the effects of the extreme weather we are increasingly facing, and the result is that the rate at which local roads are suffering is accelerating towards breaking point.”
Depending on their size, potholes can cause significant damage to vehicles and pose a danger motorists, cyclists and pedestrians.
Although small potholes rarely cause major accidents, if a vehicle hits a lot of them over time, it can lead to damage to the tyres, suspension and steering system.
In Daventry, Northamptonshire, signs have appeared from an apparently fed-up driver welcoming people to “Pot Hole City” and “Pot Holy Island”.
In October 2023, the government announced it would provide the £8.3bn of extra funding for local road improvements.
This was part of the Network North strategy to use money saved by scrapping the planned extension of HS2 north of Birmingham.
Mr Green said: “There’s still a mountain to climb when it comes to fixing our local roads.
“While it’s great that English local authorities should be getting more money from the government through its Network North funding, it’s clearly not going to be enough to halt the decline.”
AA president Edmund King added: “Our breakdown data shows that 2023 was the worst year for potholes for five years.
“Arguably the road network is a local council’s biggest asset, but not enough planned investment and repairs are being made to make streets safer and smoother for drivers and those on two wheels.”
A Department for Transport spokesperson said the £8.3bn spending pledge was evidence the government was “taking decisive action to resurface roads and fix potholes”.
They added: “In addition, we have made £150m available for local authorities right now meaning funding for most authorities has increased by almost a third compared to last year, with a further £150m to follow in the coming financial year.”
The above is a current item from BBC News.
My regular readers will be aware of the number of hazardous holes we now negotiate daily.
Here is a small selection each no more than a short distance from our home – only those where it was possible for Jackie safely to stop and let me out. Where the edges of the tarmac are nibbled away it becomes hazardous for drivers to pass each other in opposing directions when one will need to crash a wheel over a crater of varying depths – our road surface waters have subsided somewhat at the moment but sometimes they have covered the holes making them invisible. Our local does its best to patch roads that really need resurfacing. Gravelled repairs soon wash out onto the tarmac.
A friend of ours recently drove the fifth car that damaged a wheel at the same spot in less than an hour.
While I was focussed firmly on potholes, Jackie photographed fleeting deer disappearing into the woodland flanking Holmsley Passage, and raindrops dripping from thorns.
Becky and our Grandfamily returned from their trip to Scotland yesterday evening and Ian joined us later so we were a full household able to enjoy Jackie’s wholesome chicken and leak pie; roast potatoes; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and broccoli, and meaty gravy. The Culinary Queen drank more of the Sauvignon Blanc, Ian drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of La P’tite Pierre.
After a shop at Tesco this dreary grey morning Jackie and I drove up to Hockey’s Farmyard Shop for lunch.
A few ponies foraged on the moorland flanking Holmsley Passage. while a familiar pair harnessed to their trap trotted down the hill.
Well before noon weekend traffic illuminated headlights along the Burley Road at the top of the Passage.
Thatching had been begun at The Elm Tree on Hightown Road and some wit had chosen to place a banner advertising Thatchers cider across the work. (access the gallery with a click on any image for enlargements) The thatchers themselves had clearly taken Sunday off but the handwritten notice proclaimed that the pub remained open. Soon after the new owner took over this establishment last summer the ground floor was flooded. The local residents set to and participated in the clearance work.
While I photographed the thatching Jackie focussed on a mossy roof.
As usual a number of donkeys abounded in this northern part of the forest. Jackie produced the first of these images at Ibsley, where I photographed the third,
and another trimming a hedge on
Blissford Hill where two clusters of the currently ubiquitous catkins can be seen.
As we joined Roger Penny Way it seems scraps of a metal fence have been blown up a bank.
On our way back down this road a troop of ponies ambled across it.
Ian returned to Southbourne for work this evening and was sent home with a doggie bag prepared by the ladies as he was unable to stay for dinner which consisted of Jackie’s wholesome cottage pie; crunchy carrots; tender runner beans and stem broccoli, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Saint-Chinian Langudoc- Roussilon 2021.
Steady rain fell throughout the morning from the very early hours, subsiding into slight drizzle seeping from the antique pewter charger suspended overhead as we ventured out on a forest drive.
Vehicles plashed through
the swift flowing water over the ford at Holmsley Passage, now clad
in autumnal colour, as depicted by both me and the Assistant Photographer/Chauffeuse.
A small dog was less squeamish than its companions over getting its feet wet while negotiating pools across the former railway track converted to footpath.
There was much scope for reflection on the rippling surface of pools alongside Burley Road.
This flood at Linwood consists of just one of the sets of spreading gutters that have joined across the central camber of the roads.
Headlights approached us from every direction.
The Canadian flag flew alongside the Union Jack at the Bolderwood War Memorial to our loyal allies who lost their lives far away from home in WW2.
This evening we all dined on tender roast pork with crisp crackling; firm sage and onion stuffing; boiled potatoes, carrots and Brussels sprouts, meaty gravy, apple sauce and redcurrant jelly, with which Jackie drank Zesty and I drank more of the Shiraz.
This silence-still, sun-bright, blue-sky, scudding-cloud, dappled-forest, dripping-leaved, clattering-chestnuts, wet-roads, reflecting-gutters, swimming-sward, morning had turned overcast by the time we emerged, brunch-sated, from Lakeview Café on our return home.
Sun-flecked tarmac and tree trunks along wet-bracken-flanked Holmsley Passage heard whispering, dripping, earthbound leaves carpeting the forest floor alongside emerging mushrooms and bouncing sweet chestnut shells bursting with fruit.
With golfing apparently rained off, a group of ponies tended the lush greens of Burley golf course.
On the opposite side of the road a solitary pony worked over the outfield beside a cluster of further mushrooms.
Leaves slowly drifted into the reflecting verges of Forest Road;
on the sunny side of which a curly haired grazing foal cast its shadow;
further along a trio of darker equines suddenly decided to cross to the other side.
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp with fresh crusty baguettes followed by orange trifle, with which she drank more of the Zesty and I drank more of the Côtes du Rhône.
