Hurst Spit – derrickjknight

On The Spit

Anticipating that yesterday’s weather pattern would be reversed today, Jackie and I took an early drive to Saltgrass Lane, where visitors were already amassing, some clearly having slept, or still sleeping, in camper vans lining the road.

Silhouetted figures tracked along

gravelled Hurst spit;

eager crabbing was under way from the bridge;

reflecting swans preened in the rippling stream;

speedy swathes of turnstones skittered across the road.

This afternoon, in response to a question from a follower, I found no picture on this post, despite the message Attempt Block Recovery:

A Knight’s Tale (53: A Stormy Birth)

Although I am not sure which picture was there originally, I have added one with the text and another as a header.

This evening we dined on perfectly cooked Bangers, mash, cauliflower, carrots, green and red cabbage, and meaty gravy, with which I finished the Coonawarra red wine while no-one else imbibed.

He Flies Like A Bird

Today Nick was mostly painting woodwork.

This afternoon we shopped at Tesco and at Milford on Sea Pharmacy. There were queues at neither outlet.

From Tesco we drove to Milford on Sea via Angel Lane alongside which Jackie parked and I walked a while, photographing

woodland, a mossy oak, a mushroom, and autumn leaves floating on ditch water.

Along the coast road the air was so hazy as to obscure the cliffs of the Isle of Wight and a cruise ship quarantined outside Southampton.

The sea was quite calm, and more than one couple found the weather warm enough to enjoy ice creams from the nearby kiosk.

We moved on to Keyhaven and, from Saltgrass Lane, watched

walkers on the spit,

and were entertained by the aerial gymnastics of an impressive kite surfer.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome shepherds pie served with al dente carrots, cauliflower, and green beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Faugeres.

A Vehicular Stand-off

A week or so ago I searched for a phone ringing to my right. I went through jacket pockets, opened cupboards etc – all to no avail. A while later the same thing happened. Jackie picked up the phone to my left which I thought had been silent. It was then I realised that the surfeit of wax in my left ear was now affecting my hearing; and I hadn’t imagined I would be unable to detect sound direction. This morning I kept an appointment for clearance at the Milford on Sea ear clinic. Most of the stubborn substance was removed, but I was given a date for another visit to complete the job.

We abandoned the idea of a walk along the clifftop because the car parks were filling up fast

and masks were not much in evidence.

Some couples were content to stand and stare at the pastel shades of the Isle of Wight and Hurst Castle in the haze that had set the fog warning sounding during the early hours.

We then tried Keyhaven where we were unable to park even if we had wished to scramble past visitors.

We proceeded along Saltgrass Lane to the spit which was again becoming decidedly overcrowded with visitors, some of whom were unaware that the shallows would deepen when the tide came in.

Once the lane bends to the right past the bridge the only possible passing spaces on what becomes a one track road would be the verges. These were all occupied by parked vehicles.

We soon approached a vehicular stand-off. The dark blue car in front of us sat nose to nose with the light blue model. The third picture in this series shows the intimacy of the snogging session. Eventually, seen in the next two shots, a mid-blue vehicle prised itself from its tight spot, leaving the lighter one the challenge of squeezing itself in. My maternal grandfather was fond of asking anyone who leapt into his vacant chair “would you be in my grave as quick?”. This driver was very unlikely to complete the manoeuvre with any turn of speed. We didn’t wait to see. We just got the hell out of there and went home to lunch.

During the afternoon we engaged in more sweltering watering and dead-heading activities until, early in the evening we drove for a while around the lanes less travelled.

In a field alongside Rodlease Lane

a group of small breeds of pony, one of whom studied us mournfully from behind the barbed wire fence.

In Brockenhurst it was the turn of ponies to block the road, one rather underfed mare still suckling her offspring.

Another had the good sense to stick to the woodland verges.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole; crispy duchess potatoes; and crunchy cauliflower and broccoli, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Mendoza Argentine Malbec 2018.

In Keyhaven Harbour

Yesterday Ron told me about his discovery of a collection of negatives made by his father, Ray Salinger, in the 1940s and ’50s.

Ron scanned these high quality photographs of drinkers in The Walkford pub and e-mailed them to me. We think the man in the apron is the milkman who has just delivered the milk the barman is holding – by horse and cart, of course.

On a humid-damp, dull, overcast afternoon, after a visit to the pharmacy at Milford on Sea, Jackie drove us to

Keyhaven where I walked along the harbour wall.

Strong winds swept across the high tide surface, sending rippling waves shunting weedy scum seething against the stonework,

and sweeping bent grasses alongside.

I watched various boats speeding around the harbour; and a

sailboarder prepare his steed and weave his way among the moored craft.

A boisterous dog enjoyed chasing a floating stick its owner kept throwing for the purpose;

a pair of swans drank their fill.

Perhaps in consideration of the engineers involved in cable work, the owners of a house nearby had placed a polite notice at the start of a neatly mown drive across the sward.

We continued along Saltgrass Lane and observed walkers on Hurst Spit.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy lamb curry, savoury rice, and plain parathas with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Saint Emilion. I was given a special addition of a dish of fried onions, chillis, and garlic to increase the heat of my portion.

Have I Found A Redshank?

We enjoyed another very hot temperature with clear, pale blue, skies today.

In the garden bees laboured on rudbeckia;

Small White butterflies were ubiquitous;

sun produced X-ray images of such as hollyhocks and pelargoniums;

and cart wheels spoke to the low bark of the eucalyptus.

I wandered around for a while. As usual, titles may be found in the galleries.

Nugget flew at the closed utility room window while expressing his dissatisfaction with Jackie because she spent her time watering plants instead of digging up his breakfast. Bouncing onto the paving below he appeared to have recovered

enough to continue on his own chirpy way.

This afternoon we visited Shelly and Ron with birthday presents, just after Helen and Bill had arrived. We spent pleasant hour together, assisted with the crossword and accepted that we couldn’t put the world to rights.

Giles collected me early this evening for a birding session at the Milford on Sea hide.

As we left by the kitchen door, Nugget, perched on the patio rocker waved us on our way.

Such a hazy mist hung over Sturt Pond that visibility was somewhat shrouded. The Isle of Wight was quite invisible;

walkers on the spit and the bridge were given a nebulous quality.

A crow surveyed the scene from a wooden wire fence post.

We were joined in the hide by 8 year old Will Ryan and his parents.

I managed to identify the spread wings of a cormorant, but

I was at a loss to be sure about the redshank to which this engaging young man did his best to guide me. I may have one or two in this collection. Ornithologists among my readership may be kind enough to let me know. Bigification can be obtained from the gallery.

This evening Jackie and I dined on spicy pepperoni pizza and plentiful fresh salad.

Provoking A Squabble

Overnight winds had been powerful enough to blow this planted up stone urn off its pedestal.

Early this morning Jackie drove me to our G.P. surgery at Milford on Sea to order a repeat prescription.

We were not surprised to learn on BBC News that, at 79 m.p.h., the strongest gusts in Britain had rushed through The Needles which still seemed borne on a bed of spray as we passed them. Our home is in a direct line from these rocks, and always shares their buffeting.

The foaming waves of the Solent rolled rapidly towards our coastline, flinging ragged curtains of ocean droplets skyward. A motorboat speeding across the surface, despite its rapid rate, seemed to be bobbing up and down as it appeared to be engulfed.

Gulls reflected in pools in the car parks.

Masts at the Yacht Club stood against the sky at Keyhaven, where a group of walkers of the third age passed a younger woman with a dog.

We continued along the coast road towards Hurst Spit on and around which walkers strode beneath a fretwork of cotton clouds and streaking jet trails.

As we approached the bridge over the stream we became aware of a frenzied, shrieking, squabble of seagulls. What, we wondered, had provoked this activity?

A gentleman carefully placing muzzles on his pair of Dalmatians had spotted the answer.

He wasn’t prepared to risk a conflict between his dogs and the swans being fed from the bridge.

A string of Brent geese had found their own food in a field opposite.

Outside Solent Grange a store of stone sculptures awaited installation on the so pretentious walls.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s comforting cottage pie; crunchy carrots of virus hues; tender runner beans and cabbage.

A Sparrow in Swallow Drive

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Jackie continued with the weeding of the rose garden today, whilst I wandered with the camera.

Tulips are now in bloom.

This one really did come from Amsterdam, courtesy of Danni and Andy who brought it back for us.

A bank of yellow primroses fronts this striated group at the entrance to the back drive,

along which golden wallflowers are massing.

Our first rhododendron is beginning to flower;

Japanese maples are coming into leaf,

and a deep pink cherry blossom is blooming.

Saxifrages planted last year are thriving.

Clearly confused as to the season. a sleepy wasp staggered about.

This afternoon we went for a drive.

The tide was high at Keyhaven, where the wreck was now submerged,

and the Hurst lighthouse clear beyond the line of moored boats.

A purple-headed mallard and mate basked on a lichen covered wall;

and a white-headed coot paddled past a white bird hiding in the reeds.

In view of Hurst spit swans waded, foraged, and drank. One bore a tide-mark causing speculation about what it had been swimming in.

Woman and children in silhouette on Hurst spit

Among those silhouetted on the spit were a woman and two children,

Two young women in sihouette on Hurst spit

and two young women. In each group there was one person engaged in a mobile phone conversation.

We took a diversion around a housing development in Milford on Sea. Given that these streets all bore the name of a different bird, I wondered what a sparrow was doing on Swallow Drive.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb beef cobbler, sautéed potatoes and mushrooms, with crisp carrots, cauliflower and purple sprouting broccoli. The Culinary Queen drank sparkling water while my drink was San Andres Chilean merlot.

Cream Tea Crawl

On 15th September, Ron’s parents will have been married for 70 years. This morning, he brought me their wedding album, from which he has given me the honour of making some prints for a commemorative book he is compiling. So keen was I to show him how I would go about it that I scanned one to begin with.

In the process I managed to delete iPhoto and everything in it, including all the photographs I have worked on over the years. This threw me into something of a panic.

Fortunately Elizabeth managed to help me to open up a new iPhoto file, and learned from Google that it would be possible to recover what I have lost. This would require a phone call to Apple tomorrow, but it gave me peace of mind to enjoy the rest of the day and the facility to post today’s photographs.

In the meantime, Aaron finished his work on paving and gravelling the garden, when he covered the concrete surface at the southern end with shingle.

The exquisite, tiny, little rose, Flower Power, is living up to its name.

This was a perfectly splendid, sunny, day, so when the ladies fancied a cream tea we began with a trip to Gordleton Mill Hotel, where the catering is superb, and where we knew Elizabeth would enjoy the sculpture garden which has already featured in a few of my posts.

Unfortunately they no longer serve cream teas, but were happy to give us coffee on the lawn, within nostrils’ reach of the kitchen extractor emitting appetisingly tempting aromas of Sunday roast dinners, reminiscent of supermarkets wafting the smell of baking bread throughout the stores.

Sun played on the River Avon rippling beneath the white bridge over which it is necessary to walk to reach the hotel.

Ducks were in their element.

I have photographed most of the sculptures on previous occasions, but

this horse made from bicycle parts is new.

Elizabeth was intrigued by it too, especially as she thought nephew Adam would like it.

I have not noticed the dancing hares before (I am indebted to our friend, Barrie Haynes, for pointing out that the hares are boxing, as is, of course, their wont.)

The garden offers many different outlooks. Elizabeth and Jackie adorn this one.

The eucalyptus is beginning to shed its leaves.

Taking a break on a chair, roomy enough for them to share, Jackie and Elizabeth found their feet could not reach the ground.

For those who may not be familiar with the term, a pub crawl is a trip from hostelry to hostelry in search of the perfect pint, or whatever else takes your fancy.

The craving for cream teas remaining unsatisfied, we visited Braxton Gardens tea rooms where Elizabeth and Jackie enjoyed their searched-for treat, consisting of scones, clotted cream, jam, tea, and the attention of wasps who indulged in their own crawl into the unfinished jampots.

After this, we drove via Keyhaven and past the salt marsh and around Hurst Spit to Sturt Pond before returning home.

On the marsh at low tide, turnstones were demonstrating why they are so named.

Silhouetted against the lowering sun, a photographer positioned his subjects

then took the shot.

Before Elizabeth returned home to West End, we enjoyed a Hordle Chinese Take Away meal with which she and I drank Caviller del Diable reserva shiraz 2013. Unfortunately Jackie was out of Hoegaarden.

Shoebox

I began the day with a brief amble down the lane.

In the bed beyond the kitchen window, the frilly pink poppies have multiplied.

On our back drive, a pennant of white ramblers is now strung from stump to stump down the avenue of dead trees along the Northern side.

Hallmark Builders have finished their work on the entrance to The Spinney, revealing that the purpose of the wall is to contain a letterbox.

While Jackie continued in the garden, Sheila knitted duck puppets.

The Shoebox Appeal, originating in 1992, operates a system of donating gifts, often hand-crafted to needy people in Eastern Europe and in Africa. Sheila contributes with her knitting. When our friend was struggling to thread her wool through the eye of a sewing needle, I was rash enough to mention that I had, as a child, habitually performed this task for my grandmother, I got the job of doing it for Sheila. It took me some time.

If we harvested all the potatoes that emerge among the flower beds, no doubt germinated from composted peelings, we would put the greengrocers out of business. Those that haven’t already succumbed to the supermarkets, that is. Jackie brought in one of the plants, to give our guest a preview of what she was having for dinner.

This very warm afternoon Jackie took us for a drive along the coast road. From Milford on Sea, where we did a little shopping, We proceeded to Keyhaven, continued along the inviting-looking salt marshes, from which a bridge crosses to Hurst Spit, along the top of which a young woman, her fair hair blowing in the wind, strode purposefully. Visible through the railings of the firm wooden bridge, a mother and child sheltered, with their dog on the sun-warmed shingle. It is to be hoped that enough of the rapidly melting ice-cream found its way into the little boy’s mouth before it welded the tissue wrapped around it to the cone.

At Barton on Sea I walked round the side of Sails Coffee Shop and looked out over the air-space that had once carried the ends of gardens in the terrace of which it forms part. Close by is the Beachcomber cafe where Sheila drank a cappuccino and Jackie a diet Coke. Jackie’s excuse for indulging in a slice of rainbow cake was that ‘it had to be seen to be believed’.

She couldn’t eat it all, so, out of the goodness of my heart, I forced down a couple of colours.

Before that, a young woman offered one of the marauding starlings a slice of cucumber. Had she asked, I could have offered the opinion that, judging by the squirming creatures our parent starlings had carried to the chicks in our roofs, these birds are carnivores. Whether or not that is true this one eschewed the cucumber. Like the ‘Five Little Men in a Flying Saucer’, on a visit to Earth, it took a little look at it, ‘didn’t like the sight of it, and quickly flew away’.

This evening we dined on flavoursome smoked cod, Jackie’s piquant cauliflower cheese, mashed potato, and crisp carrots and green beans, followed by lemon cheesecake from the Co-op. I finished the merlot, Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and Sheila quaffed lemonade.

‘Did You Get Your Salary Cheque This Month?’

My friend Paul Herbert sent me an e-mail this morning containing a photograph from my Parents for Children consultancy days.

This would have been taken in the late 1980s or early 1990s. Paul’s delightful mother, Eve, stands, cuppa in hand, on the viewer’s far left. I am at the back.

One of the problems of a freelance life is late payments. Most agencies make you wait for money for work done. I would send out invoices at the end of the month and sometimes wait another two for settlement. Not so with Parents for Children. This is because Eve Herbert was the finance officer. She settled my accounts by return of post, for which I was always grateful. Eve’s parents were also a boon to the organisation. They cheerfully and regularly carried out voluntary tasks, like addressing envelopes.

My frustrated friend Michael Kindred, also self-employed, once chased up a finance officer with the question: ‘Did you get your salary cheque this month?’. The bemused gentleman said he had. Mike responded by telling him that the outstanding invoice was the equivalent of his salary. Such a conversation would never have been necessary with Eve.

What I find astounding about the image above is its method of delivery. There I was, playing a few turns at Lexulous, when up pops a message alerting me to Paul’s chat. The chat contained the photograph. I, of course, didn’t know what to do with it in that format, so asked Paul to e-mail it. He did. And all this was carried out from my friend’s mobile phone. I was then able to tweak it a bit on iPhoto.
Jackie and I, joined for lunch and afterwards by Elizabeth, concentrated on sorting out the living room.

Elizabeth cleaned the knobs from the doors she had scrubbed yesterday. She then proceeded upstairs to work on doors and skirting boards.
Early on this beautiful blue-skied evening, Elizabeth drove us down to Milford on Sea. She and I walked along Hurst Spit whilst Jackie worked on her puzzles in the car.

A huge squabble of black-headed gulls hovered on the air above the car park. They squealed vociferously from beaks which all pointed to the same spot on the sea wall. On the other side of the wall a family were enjoying a picnic. There were no pickings for the foraging birds.

On our way back along the spit, in the face of the lowering sun, we were surprised to see a group of young men backing towards us. Walking towards them was a slender red-haired young man wearing dark glasses.

We then saw that the man in the shades was being filmed. This, we were happily informed, was a rising young artiste named Lloyd Allen who hailed from High Wickham. Watch for the name, and remember you read about him here.
The three of us then dined at Bombay Night, on the excellent food we have come to expect from this restaurant. We all drank Kingfisher.