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Early this crisp and bright morning I walked around our sub-zero garden.
Except for this sheltered petunia,
all the plants were now frost damaged;
December haze hovered over the paths;
wood and metal harboured the white precipitation;
and the patio table bore memories of patterns found inside the winter morning bedroom windows of my pre-central heating childhood.
Jackie drove us to The Ship in Wiltshire’s Upavon, for a most enjoyable lunch with Frances.
The small grate, originally designed to take coal, now burned logs.
My choice of meal was fish pie, followed by apple and ginger trifle. Frances also opted for fish pie, while Jackie chose burger and chips. I drank Wadsworth’s 6X. That was our main meal of the day
Having passed Salisbury Cathedral on our return home, we turned off the High Road to look back at the splendid building. The frosted grass of the verges of the lane had seen no sun at all.
On home territory we diverted to Ferndene Farm Shop to buy a Christmas tree, then to Barton on Sea to catch the sunset.
The eye of The Needles lighthouse glowed white today.
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At 16 degrees, our incredibly mild period continues. It was therefore strange today to begin the winter clearing whilst we continue to enjoy blooms from spring and summer. We did so in rather desultory fashion.
It is difficult to think of winter when you can admire
roses Margaret Merrill, Penny Lane, Mamma Mia, and especially Summer Time;
or fuchsias, geraniums, dahlias, gauras and poppies, one of which harbours a hoverfly; and many more.
With the sun shining, we set off for brunch at The Friars Cliff Cafe. Unfortunately this was in everyone else’s minds. The car park at Steamer Point was crammed full, and shoals of humanity floundered on the beach. There was no doubt the cafe would be full to bursting like me after the Olympics breakfast. We therefore turned back and aimed for Calshot. We hadn’t travelled very far before the sky clouded over. It didn’t look very conducive to photography, so we brunched at Otter Nurseries. Only when I had chosen a liver casserole did Jackie tell me that was what she had planned for this evening. She happily did a rethink.
The walls at Otter contain some rather well-executed paintings for sale. One of these was Boldre Bridge. We wondered why we hadn’t seen the bridge, and realised that would be because we had always driven over it. So we went to look for it. I passed through a five-barred gate and descended a bank to find something approximating the painter’s vantage point.
I was intrigued to notice that the architect had made it possible to feature the Christian fish symbol. The five-spanned bridge, which dates from at least the 18th century is listed under the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) 1990, as amended, for its architectural or historic interest.
A tree had fallen across the river, on which autumn leaves floated over reflections of broken, reeds, and still grey sky.
Just before we drove on, the sun began to light up the foliage on Rodlease Lane.
En route to Sway, I wandered into the forest, taking advantage of the light streaming through the trees, and exchanging greetings with a family of riders.
As I ventured further in, attracted by pinpoints of light in the distance, I was rewarded by this dramatic view across the moorland featuring
a single dwelling in an idyllic setting.
Driving through Hordle on our return, Jackie spotted a cautionary notice for any witches inclined to take to the skies tomorrow night, and a cry for help from an underground prison.
Jackie’s rethink for tonight’s meal involved lemon-flavoured chicken Kiev, French fries, and baked beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserve des Tuguets madiran 2012.
On a dull, drizzly, day, I scanned the rest of the rediscovered negatives from December 2003. Therein lay the mystery.
Yesterday, I had put pictures of snow in Sherwood Forest into my iMac.
Today, I began with frost on leaves in our garden at Lindum House in Newark.
Every morning, at 6.30 a.m. or thereabouts, before dawn at that time of the year, I crept out through the garden ‘unwillingly to’
Newark Northgate Railway Station to join commuters on the down platform to Kings Cross. By the time the train was due to arrive on this particular day the sun was casting long shadows. Most people in this shot were looking in my direction for our conveyance. Like me, the man in the foreground had learned that one received an earlier alert by watching the signal. Those trains not stopping at the station travel at 120 m.p.h. Prospective passengers are warned to stand behind the yellow line in order to avoid being drawn into the path of the Intercity conveyance. I won’t describe what happens to those who ignore the precaution.
That December, Sam was not at home in Newark. He was out basking in the Canary Islands, where the boat he was to row across the Atlantic had been delivered, and he was becoming accustomed to both it and the ocean. So, how come, on the same roll of film, sandwiched between the images above and those of ‘Oddie Aloft’, were
Sam in Pacific Pete at La Gomera
and on the wide open sea?
I was not there. Had I lent my son the camera? Maybe he will elucidate.
This evening we enjoyed further portions of yesterday’s superb paprika pork, followed by Magnum ice creams. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Costieres de Nimes.
As the morning sunlight gradually scaled the beech tree to the left, it exposed the changing nature of the weeping birch, the leaves of which are beginning to blend with the gravel of the Heligan Path.
Aaron and Robin completed work on the decking, which included Aaron’s own idea of the steps, made from offcuts of the planks. The intention is to train plants around the trellis.
It was a day for recycling. Jackie and I built a temporary cold frame for the winter, from offcuts of Elizabeth’s conservatory roofing, concrete slabs, and old bricks.
Automata are mechanical figures designed to move in certain ways when set off at the turn of a handle. As an art form these date from very early times, and are, at least in The First Gallery at Bitterne, near Southampton, enjoying a resurgence of interest. Our friends Margery and Paul Clarke, the proprietors, have long featured such works in their exhibitions, and have just finished one devoted entirely to these intriguing and entertaining constructions. At the close of this event they gave a party to celebrate this and their 40th year of exhibiting. Naturally we attended.
The gallery in their home was filled with fascinating pieces, all hand-made with marvellous moving parts. Examples are:
Horse Box with Bird,
A Friendly Gesture,
Love Boat,
these three as labelled,
A Cheap Automata Shop,
A Wave Machine,
this group of four,
Three Fishes and Bird,
this one the name of which escapes me,
another being tried out,
these tiny miniatures in their glass case,
and Helluva Guy,
whose creator also made the hanging wooden puppet.
Margery had made a few figures of her own, notably:
Clown,
and Aggie, the very very wicked witch.
Other works included:
Cat and Dog,
Cat by Moonlight,
and Seal Box with Fish.
It was a warm enough day for a number of guests to sit outside,
until all were called in to drink a toast, listen to Margery’s short welcome speech,
and see her cake candle lit.
She then cut the cake which was distributed to follow the excellent soup, numerous canapés and other treats, and various desserts.
After this we visited Mum shortly before her temporary carer arrived to help her cook her dinner. Mum is having a difficult time with her arthritis at the moment and, for the time being, has a carer visiting at mealtimes.
We then went on to Elizabeth’s and spent some time with her before returning home where the contents of the doggie bag given to us last night by the waitress at The Royal China were just the job for our evening meal. I had consumed a glass or two of wine earlier, so was in no need of accompaniment. Jackie drank a Hoegaarden.
We enjoyed another gloriously sunny day. The sky and seas were both clear blue. It was nippy in the shade, but the sun was warming, as I took my usual walk to Hordle Cliff top, where the browns and ochres of the hillside brambles and the shining shingle contrasted well with the brilliant blues.
The Solent had looked most inviting from Downton Lane, where a row of mirror glass had been laid along the pitted footpath through Roger Cobb’s maize fields.
The Shorefield rooks are becoming more vociferous, and distant houses shimmered as I walked along the path to the beach.
Robins are territorial creatures, so the one I stalked from stalk to stalk among the brambles was probably the one I have photographed before on that same area of the clifftop.
I exchanged greetings with a passing jogger and his dog I now see quite regularly on the coast road.
Another customary acquaintance is a gentleman with a little dog which befriended a woman and a little boy who walked down the steps to play at the water’s edge.
Further lengthy conversations somewhat extended the timescale of my outing. The first was with a very gregarious woman who was checking the times posted at the bus stops in the jogger picture. With her pass it is worth her while to visit Waitrose where, if she spends £5 in the shop she can enjoy a free coffee and a copy of the Daily Mail newspaper.
After this, I met Roger outside Hordle Manor Farm, now occupied by his son Matthew and his family, who had indeed rescued Scooby on 17th August last year. He also told me that the lake I had photographed filling his field eleven days ago had now disappeared. This is apparently quite a regular occurrence.
In the car yesterday, Becky had described the 2012 film ‘The Sweeney’, in which a far more thuggish, twenty first century, Ray Winstone reprises John Thaw’s Jack Regan role. The eponymous TV series of the 1970s was iconic. ‘Sweeney!’ (1977) and ‘Sweeney 2’ (1978) were feature length cinema spin-offs. Our daughter, who had watched it with Flo, described an amazing car chase through a single lane winding ‘tree tunnel’. Becky had speculated about what could happen if various pedestrians, such as an old lady walking her dog, had been the other side of one of the bends. Flo had finished off the list with: ‘Or Grandpa photographing a leaf’. It just had to be done, didn’t it? The title, incidentally derives from ‘Sweeney Todd’ (the demon barber of Fleet Street), cockney rhyming slang for the Flying Squad. The way this verbal device works is to take a two or three word phrase and just use the first one as the required term. Another example is Plates (of meat) for Feet.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s excellent fusilli and tagliatelle Bolognese followed by lemon tart, with which we both drank water and I finished the Cotes du Rhone Villages.
I don’t watch enough television to make it worth while viewing anything that is serialised, because I am bound to miss some episodes. I find it preferable to await the appearance of boxed DVD sets. Thus, those two superb HBO series, ‘The Sopranos’ and ‘The Wire’, kept me entertained whist I was recovering from my hip replacement operation at the end of 2010. I have so far missed ‘Homeland’, which is well recommended and until now, ‘Downton Abbey’. This began to be rectified yesterday evening because Becky and Ian bought Jackie the boxed set of all five series for Christmas. We watched the first episode.
Serious frost, its outlines emphasising the patterns of nature, descended upon Downton overnight. Seeking to savour the spectacle I took an early walk to Hordle Cliff top and back. Downton Lane was very slippery. Ice on the pools made its own patterns. The owner of a boxer dog tottered gingerly down a slope, whilst his pet, legs splayed, the claws of its paws scratching the surface, slithered on ahead. Footprints of walkers and dogs, and deeply rutted cart tracks stood proud in frozen mud.
I crunched my way along the more crackly than usual shingle for a while, noticing that frost clung to organic matter, like driftwood and cuttlefish, rather longer than to the colder stones. As I walked down the steps I was momentarily alarmed by a cry of ‘Scooby’. I turned around and saw a Jack Russell/Pomeranian cross, bearing the same name as Flo’s Jack Russell/Beagle. This mixture had produced an animal not weighed down by an oversized head.
Where shadows had fallen across the steps down to the beach, or the sun had not yet risen above the back of a bench on the path leading to Shorefield, the white precipitation persisted.
A house on Pless Road cast its sharp black shadow on the bright evergreen hedge opposite.
All her life Flo has fondly imagined giving someone a slap in the face with a wet fish. Imagine her delight when, Jackie having bought some smoked haddock for this evening’s dinner, Becky volunteered to precede her shower by being the recipient.
We watched three more episodes of ‘Downton Abbey’ before Jackie and Becky prepared the classic symphony in white fish dish. We are now as hooked as were the contents of the meal, the accompaniment to which was Wairu Cove sauvignon blanc 2014.
