horses – derrickjknight

A Bridge For Tootlepedal

Soon after lunch on this cold-sunshine day I walked around the garden and photographed

a few flowers, namely daffodils and a cluster of blue wood anemones.

Afterwards, stopping at Gregg’s bakers for Jackie to replenish the sweet trolley. While waiting outside, through the car windscreen, the laundrette window, and some reflections, I was entranced by

a rather noble hooded face.

On our journey north the roads and terrain, their waters replenished by two more days and nights of heavy precipitation, were as saturated as ever, but I chose not to focus directly on them on this occasion.

A tyre swing above the rippling and swollen River Avon was now swinging underwater with the force of the current sweeping from the

bubbling Woodgreen millstream, alongside which

a soft toy lounged on a bench and a stump creature reared its head.

As I rounded the broken corner of the bridge wall into which someone had crashed,

Jackie was herself photographing the river encroaching upon the car park; the bridge for Tootlepedal; and me on the bridge watching

the rippling waters.

Ponies, dogs, and walkers basked on Woodgreen, where a glorious magnolia spread in the garden of a thatched cottage. The last pair of ponies in this gallery were depicted by Jackie.

Trees against the clouds at Hale included those sporting their usual crops of mistletoe.

Ferns flourished on a bank cropped by soggy donkeys. While I was photographing these I heard the clopping of hooves further down the road , and turned to see

these berugged horses being led to their paddock beside the ford.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s beef and onion or chicken pies, according to choice; boiled potatoes, tender runner beans, and carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli al dente. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserva Privada Chilean Malbec 2022.

The Sixth Of Our Second

This afternoon Jackie drove us to Ferndene Farm Shop to stock up on vegetables. Signs of the season in their displays outside the shop included

a Happy Halloween greeting, large pumpkins, firewood in the form of kindling and logs, and autumn cut flowers.

We continued on a forest drive, where

two of the English Longhorn cattle along Forest Road appeared to have developed a corkscrew.

Along Braggers Lane some of the field horses now wear rugs for protection from the colder weather.

We progressed to Jackie’s favourite pumpkin outlet, a cottage on Fish Street, where she chose one of a more suitable size for a pie.

Along Ringwood Road a pair of brick gateposts sported pumpkin heads.

This evening of the sixth anniversary of our second wedding, we dined at The Lazy Lion in Milford on Sea. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that the publican is now the man we new from the Monkey Puzzle pub in earlier days.

He has refurbished what was the Red Lion retaining all the original features of the 18th century building, renamed The Lazy Lion to distinguish it from others of one of the post popular pub titles we have.

Jackie, who was our photographer this evening, photographed a few of the features, including rings in the ceiling and the wooden floors.

The service was friendly, efficient, and allowing us as much time as we needed.

The food was first rate, not rushed, and perfectly cooked.

Here are Jackie’s images of her chicken burger meal, my swordfish steak, and the shared bowl of onion rings. When we both ordered these onions we were rightly advised to share one because of the quantity.

I drank a tasty Garnacha and Jackie drank Amstell.

The gentle background music was pleasant and unobtrusive.

A friendly woman from another table volunteered to photograph us on our special day.

We forgot to photograph the excellent desserts of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream, and Bailey’s flavoured bread and butter pudding and custard.

Getting Cold Feet

Fierce gales that gusted throughout the night had somewhat lessened this morning, although they set up again with increased fervour, beating a tattoo on the unflinching Modus, as we set off for an afternoon forest drive.

An unusually long tailback on Christchurch Road gave us the opportunity to turn round and head for home, but we persevered. Eventually we saw that the cause had been a stationary large lorry with flashing lights which reversed into a side road in which was an emergency police car and another vehicle blocking the road. We have no idea what had happened, But of course drove past.

In a field alongside Sowley Lane entered by muddy ruts bearing puddles, on the surfaces of which swam gradually increasing raindrop ringlets,

a soggy group of horses silently tolerated their damp surroundings.

Further along the road a small herd of cattle cropped the verges and chomped branches stripped from trees with their lichen and ivy coated trunks surrounded by dripping ferns alongside

a glistening five-barred gate.

From May to October I customarily adopt footwear of sandals without socks. Throughout this July I have been getting cold feet. This is predicted to continue until September.

Becky left before tonight’s dinner to return home to Southbourne. She had made some flavoursome chicken stock with which Jackie cooked this evening’s sticky savoury rice to accompany meaty barbecue spare ribs and tender baby sweetcorn. The Culinary Queen drank Vineyard’s Juicy Spanish Rosé, while I finished the Douro.

To Catch A Worm

I spent much of the morning recovering pictures for https://derrickjknight.com/2022/10/29/nine-years-on/

Immediately after lunch we took drive into the forest where

a weak sun photographed over Charles’s Lane

and through trees at Ogden North feebly attempted to pierce cold cloud cover.

Earlier, Martin had been stymied in his work on the patio by the frozen cementing material. He left after

cutting and carrying from the Back Drive the paving slabs he had oped to fix in place.

The knitted robin decorating the Tiptoe post-box on Wootton Road, knowing where he would land, having risen early enough to catch a juicy worm, donned a breast bib to compete with the Royal Mail red,

A string of ponies gathered outside The Rising Sun at Bashley.

Looking across the valley beneath the aforementioned Ogdens North frost still lay on the roofs, while a pillar of bonfire smoke made its way to merge with the clouds.

A pair of field horses sported rugs to put their unfashionable companion to shame,

while others simply blended with their golden hay.

This evening we all dined on oven fish and chips, sliced pickled gherkins, pickled onions, onion rings, and mushy peas, with which Jackie and I both drank Trentino Pinot Grigio 2021.

What To Do With Flies

For much of the morning and the first half hour of a sweltering afternoon Jackie continued weeding the Brick Path, taking her own

before

and after photographs;

meanwhile I filled several trug-loads of dead-headed roses and weeds pulled up from the beds along the way.

Afterwards I printed another batch of A4 prints of him at work for Nick, who finished his work today.

Early this evening Jackie and I took a drive into the forest.

There seemed to be three options for photography when we arrived at Hatchet Pond: a man throwing sticks into the lake for his dogs to splash after, crows pecking in the grass, and, as a last resort my lens might reach a few groups on the far bank. As I disembarked from the Modus the man and his dogs walked away, and the rooks flew off.

Fortunately, a young lady aimed a judicious kick on the far side.

On Furzey Lane, a young foal, looking enviously at his mother’s tail, the switching of which he tried to emulate with no effect, did his best to dislodge the flies which pestered him, with ineffective kicks and waggling of his abbreviated little brush.

Along Lodge Lane a colourful pheasant strutted in the verge grasses, and inquisitive field horses displayed their fly protection gear.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s pasta bolognese with fresh salad. The Culinary Queen and Ian drank Hoegaarden, Becky drank Zesty, and I finished the Côtes du Rhône.

A Tiresome Task

Yesterday I experienced a muzzy-headed relapse – enough for me to turn down a trip to the forest for the first time ever. This morning we made up for it.

The mournful expressions of the dogs in the back of the SKODA trailing a pair of led horses bore evidence to our slow progress along Hordle Lane.

Our next hold up provided a lengthier photo opportunity in the form of the

four way traffic control on the A35 at Holmsley. There was ample time to study the different streams of vehicles as they were permitted to approach us while we sat at the red light. As previously reported the completion of the bridge refurbishment scheme has been delayed, but at least this narrow thoroughfare has been opened.

Further along our progress was hindered by Highway Maintenance work clearly designed ton keep heavy lorries off the gravelled lay-bys. Filling the holes that they churn up is very soon necessary, so there seems to be a comparatively new policy of blocking access with rows of posts.

As we continued along the forest roads I photographed some of the ancient hedgerows and fenced woodland, eventually turning my attention to

horses in the landscapes to our right. Jackie didn’t miss the opportunity to catch me on the job.

Thirsty ponies drank at the winter pool on Forest Road. The amount of yawning that was displayed suggested this was perhaps a tiresome task. A group of young cyclists became quite excited at the sight. The last four of the photographs in this gallery are by Jackie. Please don’t miss the reflection of the extended tongue in the second of these images.

This evening we dined on second helpings of Jackie’s choice chicken and vegetable stewp with which I drank Barossa Valley Shiraz 2017

Definitely Spring

On this warm and sunny day Jackie unwrapped the wooden patio chairs and

we set them in place;

Flo continued her work in the garden, clearing twigs and leaves of cordyline

Australis and setting about burning them;

I wandered around with a camera.

Jackie and I took a forest drive after lunch while the others dealt with banking.

I photographed wild woodland daffodils along the banks of the rippling, reflecting Lin Brook, where bent a broken tree trunk.

We continued along Highwood Road, with shadows

falling across last autumn’s fallen leaves and the trunks of trees.

A field horse churned up a mud bath and splashed around in it before joining

its companions in a run,

while others grazed in a field opposite.

A drift of daffodils enhanced a neighbouring piece of land.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stewp, with which she, Becky, and Ian drank Portuguese Rosé, while I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2019.

A Knight’s Tale (112: “The Best Big Brother Ever”)

At the beginning of 1986 snow lay on the ground for the first three months. This was the last year I remember a decent amount of snow in London. Matthew took his little brother and sister for a sledge ride on allegedly thin ice beside the Waterfowl Sanctuary on Tooting Common.

During that prolonged winter, Sam’s and Louisa’s expressions show quite clearly how cold it was when Matthew, dubbed by Louisa ‘the best big brother ever’, took them out for a buggy ride from Gracedale Road.

It was clearly much more cosy when he read them a story.

It would have been that summer that Jessica, Sam, and I spent a week in Mary Dewsberry’s holiday home in Haslemere. Last year’s bracken and autumn leaves lingered in the country terrain.

Jessica, Sam and Louisa feeding ponies 1986

This may have been the occasion when we discovered that the two children both had allergies to horses, the touch of which caused their eyes to swell up alarmingly.

Under the cloak of a little coppice, Louisa made a diving effort to reenter her mother’s womb. Sam insisted that there was room for two.

Mary’s son, Nick, and his children Jack and Dora, welcomed Sam and Louisa into their boat maintenance crew. Louisa made a quick recovery after her early tip-up, and everyone set to with gusto.

A Touch Of The Sun

This morning I finished reading my Folio Society edition of ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens.

I will adhere to my normal practice of not giving away the story, despite its great reputation. The book is very well crafted, displaying a number of developing relationships in a young man’s transition from humble origins to gentrification. There is plenty of humour in this otherwise tragic, yet romantic, tale. Two major characters are unforgettable, and “What larks” is a phrase still enjoyed. Dickens’s descriptive powers of place and scene are at their height. Much of the action is carried along at a fast pace; its dramatic opening and penultimate sequences are gripping.

Christopher Hibbert’s erudite introduction puts the novel into the context of the author’s life and work.

I scanned the last seven of Charles Keeping’s emotional, detailed, illustrations which demonstrate his mastery of line.

In ‘She withdrew her hands from the dish and fell back a step or two’ the artist faithfully portrays these hands as the author describes them.

‘I saw her running at me, shrieking, with a whirl of fire blazing all about her’

‘Mr Jaggers stood before the fire. Wemmick leaned back in his chair, staring at me’

‘I saw in his hand a stone hammer with a long heavy handle’

‘We went ahead among many skiff and wherries, briskly’

‘I laid my hand on his breast, and he put both his hands upon it’

‘What I had never felt before was the friendly touch of the once insensible hand’

Late in the afternoon the lingering pall draped over our land gave way to a sunny period, so we drove into the forest to enjoy it. Given the hour, we could take just one option before the light failed.

We settled on Highwood Lane in the north.

Ripples and reflections supplemented the stream running alongside;

smoke spiralled into the atmosphere redolent of burning leaves;

working horses some in rugs, were fed or rested.

I wandered about the woodland, so different from yesterday’s murky scenes. A touch of the sun makes all the difference.

This evening we dined on Mr Chan’s excellent Hordle Chinese Take Away fare, with which Jackie finished the Chenin Blanc and I drank more of the Shiraz.

A Day Of Two Halves

We drove through tears wept with varying velocity and frequency by this morning’s miserable skies, first to Ferndene Farm Shop for the purchase of a Christmas tree, then to the forest for a drive.

On one side of Braggers Lane

a curious cow left its companions in a field in order watch the cars go by;

on the other, field horses enjoyed individual helpings of fodder,

while other bovines stretched out on the brow of a hill.

Some birches retained lingering leaves,

and mushrooms simulated flower petals.

This tree along Ringwood Road has been propped by a slab of wood for as long as we have been driving past.

After lunch we applied ourselves to preparing for Christmas. Jackie revised the present list and I made a start on the cards. We noticed how each year the numbers are reduced by death. As I typed this Jackie called out “I’ve just found Scooby on the Christmas list”. This was Becky’s dog who is buried in our garden.

Later, we visited the Everton Post Office to buy stamps and post a couple of cards abroad. By this time

the skies were smiling, so we diverted to

Barton on Sea to catch the sunset, then on to Milford on Sea where there was still enough light to catch

the Christmas decorations on the village green.

This evening we dined on second helpings of the roast chicken with fresh vegetables and Yorkshire pudding with which Jackie finished the Sauvignon Blanc and I drank more of the Rioja.