Feeling rather dispirited by struggling in vain to carry out some tasks I have been happily managing before WP’s latest improvements, my mood was lifted by a drive into the forest.
Jackie drove us up Holmsley Passage
and across Burley Road where she parked the Modus so I could walk back and photograph
woodland with mossy roots, fallen trees, and reflecting, receding, winter pools;
and the gorse on the heath. As part of their general maintenance duties the forest ponies trim the golden shrubs and prepare paths through to
the grounds of Burley Golf Course where they carefully maintain the greens and suppress some of the rough.
From 29th of this month, when golf courses will be allowed to reopen, it would be wise for neither this pair of joggers nor me to venture onto this location.
I eventually rejoined Jackie in the car and she allowed me out along Bisterne Close where
I inspected the work of the equine forestry management crew.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome chicken and leek (quippingly dubbed cockaleekie by the Culinary Queen) stewp and fresh crusty bread, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Mendoza Red Blend.
Despite the forecast of sunny spells today we were treated to clear cerulean skies and full sunshine throughout the day.
As we set off early to Ferndene Farm shop I paused to admire Jackie’s planting of primulas and violas in front of the garage door trellis.
This was the view from the car as I waited for just a short time for the Shopping Lady to rejoin me.
Long shadows stretched across Beckley Road and the driveway to The Glen;
and knitted knotted skeins across the woodland verges beside the road to Burley, on which
Jackie parked the Modus enabling me to photograph the moorland landscape.
Joggers, cars, walkers, and cyclists competed for space. We had imagined that the rather slow driver of the red car was keeping her distance from the cyclists ahead. She was, however, no faster after those on bikes turned off.
Hightown Lane was my next point of embarkation. Again walkers, cyclists, and other vehicles vied for space on the narrow road. Voices carried some distance.
I began drinking in the delights of the clear, sparkling, stream, revealing glimpses of its bed among rippling reflections; clumps of golden daffodils; bright backlit leaves; and pendant overhanging catkins.
One of the field horses wearing a red rug revealed the need for warmth during the still very cold nights. It wasn’t that warm at 11 a.m. either.
Gnarled trees and sinuous wooden fences cast their own images beneath and beside them;
while those following the contours of mossy banks created concave and convex curves as penetrating light illuminated the soft green cushions and picked out russet autumn leaves.
During her vigil on the verge Jackie spent some time pondering who might live in a cave on the bank.
This evening we dined on further helpings of yesterday’s, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Merlot Tannat.
“Where’s Nugget?” (78), Jackie produced a series of photographs.
She was fascinated by the hairy borage
and a spiky caterpillar masquerading as a cactus.
Clematis Star of India occupies the wisteria arbour
through which is framed her favourite view of the garden. Left of centre, the Chilean lantern tree was lit by the evening sun.
Late this afternoon today, following the relaxed lockdown rules Jackie drove me to Bisterne Close along which I walked for 40 minutes before she picked me up and we returned home.
Unbeknown to each of us The Assistant Photographer and I focussed on the same subjects
Here we have tree fungus -Jackie’s
and mine.
To the right of this young female jogger stands a tree marked
for foresters’ attention, as in my photographs.
This would be too late for fallen (mine)
or broken (Jackie’s) trees.
One runner was exercising himself and his dog;
other people took a more leisurely pace.
I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with the friendly woman who kept the required distance from the runner and his pooch shown above.
There was much blooming rhododendron Ponticum along the lane.
Casting its shadow, a dark brown pony left a group ahead of me.
These wallowed in what, when we were last here, was a waterlogged verge.
Our final coincidental subject was the last of these ponies who, by the time Jackie approached was reaching for drier fodder.
We passed another pony on our way back along Bennetts Lane.
Golfers are now free to play on the Burley Course.
More ponies frequent the moors of Holmsley Passage.
This evening, along with her exquisite savoury rice, Jackie produced a variety of prawns: tempura; salt and pepper; and hot and spicy; and small vegetable spring rolls. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the El Zumbido Garnacha Syrah.
This morning’s sun shone blindingly bright in clear skies; the temperature was finger- tingling chilly. Because the meteorologists had predicted rain this afternoon we drove out early to Mudeford Quay.
I had never seen the normally tranquil harbour water as choppy as it was today.
The high tide surged back and forth over the shore line leaving bubbles clinging to driftwood;
gulls bobbed among the undulating surface oscillations,
occasionally taking to the air
and settling on the grass
until scattered by hastening motors.
Leaving a pair of brisk joggers to their exertions I walked over to the quayside with its
rougher seas and bouncing buoys.
A solitary jogger trotted past two women progressing at a gentler pace, while
an eager dog towed its owner along the pool sprinkled promenade.
From a safe distance an animated baby seated in a buggy was being shown
waves battering the sea wall.
Jackie photographed me
photographing her. How’s that Pauline?
As we prepared to move on the Assistant Photographer showed me an image she had produced of
yacht masts and a bench, and related the story of the day.
Before my Chauffeuse had moved over to the quayside a young woman had emptied a carrier bag full of food onto the grass in front of Jackie’s car. Within seconds
a squabble of seagulls swooped seeking sustenance and set about each other scavenging insatiably.
It was all over in a flash.
At Avon the eponymous river had spread itself across the neighbouring fields,
encroaching upon calves’ feeding area.
We continued on to Hockey’s Farm shop for brunch, where we were disappointed to discover that the café was closed because a new floor was being laid.
The straggly-damp alpacas in the pasture might have appreciated their own new floor.
A thatcher’s pig has flown up onto the roof of the cottage repaired last summer.
The hair of a group of ponies at South Gorley may have been dry, but now it needed a good shampoo.
Others a little further on seemed to have had one already.
We returned to the excellent Café Aroma in Ringwood for our plentiful brunch, then travelled home facing oncoming driving sleet.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s watercress soup and rolls with which I finished the Costiere de Nimes.
Yesterday evening we watched the first episode of The Crown Series 2.
The morning began with suggestions of blue sky when Jackie popped out to photograph our new OLD POST HOUSE sign given to us for Christmas by Shelly and Ron, and
fixed to the back gate by Aaron on Sunday.
While she was down that end of the Back Drive she photographed daffodil spears pushing up early.
From far off in the Rose Garden she heard Nugget singing his heart out, so he became her next subject,
“Where’s Nugget?” (58)
Knowing that the rest of the day would be shrouded in drizzle we drove to
Mudeford harbour by mid-morning.
The waves were choppy and the currents contorted.
Walkers and joggers tracked the waves
or sped around the more sheltered harbour.
No-one was seated on the benches –
not even the mobile phone user.
Gulls gathered on the grass.
Dogs and children so love to scatter them,
sending them flashing against the dark indigo skies.
From Mudeford we headed inland, where, at Burley Manor the deer were busy grazing or resting by the shepherd’s hut.
Beside the fence stands an ancient hollow trunk, probably of an oak. I will spare my readers sight of the various unsavoury items tossed inside by visitors mistaking it for a refuse bin.
Outside Burley grazing New Forest ponies were reflected in rapidly filling ditches.
Nearby a pair of muddy-hoofed Shetland ponies did their bit for verge maintenance.
When a larger cousin joined them, one rather cheery creature proposed: “Let’s go play with the traffic.”
So off they went, intent
on causing mayhem.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome beef and mushroom pie; boiled potatoes; roast parsnips, onions, and peppers; crisp cauliflower, and tender cabbage, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Patrick Chodot Brouilly 2017.
The wind kept up this morning, but the rain did not return until this afternoon. The light changed by the minute.
As the sunshine came and went, I had to be patient to take this photograph of the front garden trellis which held solanum, roses, rose hips, petunias, lobelia, nasturtiums, and cotoneaster. Only the clematis and honeysuckle have faded from sight.
We took a trip to Highcliffe beach. A pair of dogs romped along the clifftop,
where the sign warning of crumbling cliffs will probably need to be moved further inland.
When checking on the parking fees, Jackie was greeted by a fairly faint rainbow.
A building worker shared his breakfast with the grateful gulls, and
the rainbow shifted in his direction.
Pools rippled in the car park, against which
the Isle of Wight and The Needles were virtually misted from sight.
One young man stood and watched the
choppy seas
and cloudy skies.
I only needed to turn my head inland to look down on walkers bathed in woodland sunshine;
and twist again for a view of the light on the coastline to my left
and the sight of a dog that probably didn’t belong to the surfboard carrier.
Leaving the scrub behind me,
Down steps
and slopes I descended
to the shore.
On the way down I watched a jogger and dog-walker pass each other.
The woman with the dog went on to cross paths with a couple on a lower level,
and a young lady gradually overhauled another pair, as they passed the Lifeguards’ hut.
Waves sprayed the breakwaters, and, unhindered,
rolled onto the shingle, now at my feet.
Across to my right was a clear view of Mudeford Spit and Sandbank leading to Hengistbury Head. The beach huts visible in this photograph cost as much as £275,000. That’s right. £275,000.
According to metro.co.uk this one went on the market in July this year for £280,000. The article informs us that:
‘For £280,000 you could buy a four-bedroom detached house in Huddersfield or two three-bed cottages with an acre of land in the village of Maerdy, South Wales.
The sandbank can only be accessed by a 20 minute walk, a ride on a novelty land train or by ferry but its isolated position is what gives it its exclusivity and value.
Beach hut owners have to share communal bathroom facilities and can only sleep in the huts between March and October, but can visit any time of year.
Worth a quarter of a million? BNPS
Hut 78 is in a handy location close to the ferry jetty and the communal facilities.
It looks out Christchurch Harbour where the new owners will be able to enjoy stunning sunsets.
The timber home measures 16ft 7in by 10ft 2in and comfortably sleeps four, with a double bed in a mezzanine level.
Solar panels on the roof power the fridge and lights, the cooker runs on bottled gas and there is a water tank that feeds into the kitchen sink.’
As I climbed back up to the car park, another couple of walkers greeted me and continued along their path.
I rejoined Jackie who drove us on to Barton on Sea. From there we were called back home in a hurry. We had been told by our mortgage lender to expect a call this morning from a surveyor coming to value the house. His call would be to arrange a viewing. He did call me. He was outside our house. He had been given a time to be there. We hadn’t.
I guided the gentleman round the house and garden. We then returned to New Milton for some shopping and banking, and brunched at Wendy’s excellent café. Then the rain came.
For dinner this evening Jackie produced a tasty fish pie, mashed potato, carrot and swede mash, and sautéed leeks, peppers, and green beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. THOSE IN GROUPS ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE.
We spent the morning driving around the forest before lunching at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms.
The strong early morning sun forced its way through the rising mist, and eventually dominated the blue skies, warming
the landscape,
and eventually lighting the lichen-covered oaks,
some of which were reflected in the myriad of pools like these on the way to Burley.
Crossing the road I arrived at another small lake that turned out to be part of a golf course.
As I contemplated the green further up the hill, I imaged what it would be like to hit your ball into the water.
Preceded by their voices a group of golfers dragged their bags into view. I passed on my thoughts, and the gentleman facing me in the second picture, informed me, with a wry smile, that they didn’t need to imagine it.
There are many fords on the forest roads, with bridges for pedestrians wishing to cross swollen streams. This crossing near Burley was dry,
and clear water flowed fast beneath it.
On this fine spring Saturday there was much traffic on the road. This did not deter somnolent ponies who ignored cars slaloming around them and cyclists whizzing through the central gap.
A domestic horse tore nonchalantly at the beech hedge beside its wire fencing.
At Brockenhurst a working Telephone box was reflected in a seasonal pool.
The structure had clearly been left exposed to the elements without protective paint for a number of years. A pile of rubbish carpeted the floor, and it was necessary to negotiate a discarded poop scoop bag to reach the peeling door.
Perhaps it would have been an idea to offer the management to local residents as in the case of this one at Wootton. This is also reflected, but it would be more savoury to make one’s way through mud and pony droppings than the obstacle mentioned above.
There were many golfers playing on various courses on this beautiful morning.
Also engaged in forest pursuits were dog walkers like this couple drying their dog after a romp amongst the dewy bracken.
Cyclists abounded. Take note of the two heads ascending the hill behind those in the first picture.
Many horse riders were seen on the country roads and across the moors.
Joggers exercised alone,
or in couples. Do you recognise the two heads seen on the road to Burley? Here they are somewhat later.
For lunch at Holmsley Jackie chose her favourite macaroni cheese. My meal was an excellent fish pie served with carrots, peas, and greens.
This evening the Culinary Queen produced a thick mushroom and cheese omelette for our dinner.
www.weather. That is what 50 m.p.h. winds have turned our wet and warm days into. (Mr WordPress took my joke one stage further. I didn’t type http:// and he won’t let me erase it)
We went out for a drive this morning; first down to the clifftop over Hordle beach at Milford on Sea; then through the forest via Burley, Fritham, Lyndhurst, and Brockenhurst.
In the early part of the afternoon I watched the second televised Rugby League match between England and New Zealand. This reminded me why I had given up on it years ago.
Afterwards, I worked on the morning’s photos. Normally, I do very little in the processing, but today I wanted the results to reflect the mood of the day, so I converted most into black and white, and toned down the colour a little in the three that were not made into monochrome. This subduing was because the camera had produced slightly brighter colour than was available to the eye.
Jackie parked the car at Paddy’s Gap, so we could watch the mountainous seas pounding beneath us. I had a very difficult job prising the car door open against the gale, and when I emerged, the driving rain blurred my vision and, as can be seen, left its mark on the camera lens.
A pair of lone joggers performed the involuntary dance of falling leaves, as they battled along the path. I swear the lighter one was lifted aloft.
Interestingly, the more we drove into the forest, the less the wind blew, but the rain was just as heavy and pools were beginning to develop on the grass and heathers. All cars had their headlights in operation, even at 11 a.m.
Perhaps we should not have been surprised than there was scarcely a pony in sight. Areas where we would expect to see many of them cropping the grass or molesting tourists in the car parks, bore no sign of life except the wind sending reluctant leaves, not yet ready for hibernation, spinning on the more slender twigs before spiralling downwards.
Most equines had no doubt repaired to the middle of the forest in search of shelter.
The outskirts of Fritham are normally well populated by shetland ponies.
Today, just one, bedraggled, muddied, munched alone.
For dinner this evening, The Cook produced a tasty lasagna with a melange of fried Mediterranean vegetables, followed by Tesco’s chocolate eclairs. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Madiran.
Last night at sundown I took an amble down to Roger’s field and back. On Downton Lane the light glinted behind the secret garden gate. On a glorious morning, Jackie drove me down to the cashpoint in Milford on Sea, and left me at The Beach House so I could take my usual walk home. The bright blue Solent, tuned into a yachting marina, reflected the skies above; the sun shone; still streaks of salmon clouds had risen to the surface above the horizon; a white-haired jogger plodded, solitary walkers strode energetically, while those with dogs paused periodically for a sniff along the clean gravelled footpath; butterflies fluttered; crows and gulls flew overhead; a small shrew scuttled out of the undergrowth; and thrift and other wild flowers glistened in the sunlight on the clifftop. A passing woman greeted me with ‘it’s a lovely morning’. ‘It is, said I, and I’ve left my camera battery at home’. ‘Oh, no’, she replied, reflecting my own feeling when I discovered I had left the energy supplier on charge overnight. Families leaving Shorefield teemed down to West Road. Younger joggers were out in force. Two small boys, in their eagerness to reach the sea, ran down the slope, the larger lad leaving the smaller panting in his wake. The breasts of another, sadly overweight, wobbled beneath his mesh-fronted T-shirt as he painfully waddled along. In the Country Park itself, basking holidaymakers breakfasted or read on their chalet balconies. A barking dog protected its temporary residence. On Downton Lane, speeding cyclists played chicken with cars, many open-topped, preventing them from travelling at their own preferred speed. In a recent post, Geoff , thebikinggardener#can i eat nasturtiums wrote of his ambivalent relationship with these plants. As we watered the front garden we were presented, in the form of hairy black and yellow chomping caterpillars, with ample evidence of what he was saying. The older section of our brick path, set almost 100 years ago, has, with the passage of time, soil movement and the incursion of tree roots, become uneven, and dangerous for visitors ending the support of walking sticks; although the bricks themselves remain sound. During the morning Aaron and Lee have made excellent progress in the task of lifting and levelling them. The original, fiddly, pattern has been lost, but that is a small price to pay. Before setting off to Shelley and Ron’s home in Walkford for a barbecue lunch we drove to Everton Nurseries to buy an aluminium bench for the south west corner of the rose garden, and put it in place on bricks we have yet properly to embed. The barbecue was also attended by Helen and Bill, Neil, Donna, and Anthony. We had a splendid afternoon of convivial conversation, superb sausages, lamb and chicken satay kebabs, salads, followed later by fruit salad, strawberries, lemon cake, and cheesecake according to choice. Red and white wine, coke, cider, and beer were all on offer. A surprisingly long section of the mid-afternoon was occupied by a game of Giant Jenga. It didn’t seem possible to me that this precarious pastime could last any longer than a few minutes. A tower of long wooden blocks is built to begin with. Each player must remove one block without upsetting the structure, and place it on the top. Gradually the lower levels are depleted, but the height remains the same, until the increasingly tottering tower finally collapses. The person who made the last successful placement is the winner.
After a few early extractions, Bill is seen here making another.
Quite early on Neil appeared to go to sleep on the job,
but recovered to make a flamboyant removal later on, when wobbling was under way.
Ron, with a flourish, applied his structural engineering skills to the task,
while Shelley undertook careful all-round investigation
and slid one out from the bottom, starting another top layer.
Helen couldn’t believe her luck.
As the tower began to sway, I didn’t really fancy my chances,
even after the withdrawal the tower was likely to topple.
