Tag: long case clock

Time For A Woodland Drive

Early this morning Richard and Al of Kitchen Makers visited to cut the bottom off the new inner door and return it to its position.

They brought a trestle in order to measure and cut the door in the front garden.

Before they put back the door, they carried the long case clock into the hall from the corner of the sitting room into which they had toted it before the flooring work began. There proved to be some difficulty with this on account of replacing the weights, which required generous patience and ingenuity considering that they had already fitted this in ahead of their planned day’s work. Jackie having reset it, the clock continues to keep the perfect time it has maintained for 200 years

Martin, from Fordingbridge, then visited to discuss and quote for rebuilding the wisteria arbour.

After lunch we posted the Probate Application, cheque, and supporting documentary evidence from Everton Post Office; followed on to Ferndean Farm Shop where Jackie purchased some provisions; and set out upon a forest drive.

The burnished landscape glowed along Holmsley Passage.

Ponies grazed and squirrels scampered about the dappled woodland and among autumn leaves nurturing mushrooms and sheltering solitary holly berries alongside

Bisterne Close, in a field on the opposite side of which basked

a lone deer in the sunshine that

backlit a pair of ponies beside Burley Road.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome winter stewp with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.

Changing By The Second

Wild wind howled and piercing precipitation rattled the roof throughout the night and well into the morning.

Jackie photographed and I e-mailed this image of crooked hand from our 200 year old long case clock to Martin Fairhurst of Dials in Lymington who will repair it. Even with the bend the clock keeps perfect time and chimes seven minutes late according to the point of the digit, as if there were no crook in it.

After lunch I made a start on a month’s ironing. When the sun sneaked out I unplugged the iron and we sped after it. Since it had made the effort we would have been rude not to.

The field alongside South Sway Lane, once home to pony Gimlet and her foal,

was now occupied by a nomadic Mallard family.

A drain was overflowing, suggesting that the lane itself will be flooded soon. Last year it became impassable.

The rain had definitely not conceded the skies. Rainbows followed us around

The fast-flowing, rippling and bubbling Balmer Lawn stretch of Highland Water had overflowed its banks. Within seconds of my striding out to photograph it the clouds rolled in, rain hammered down, and my woollen jacket soon took on the scent of damp sheep.

On the signal of the click of my camera a reflective crow was instantly on the wing.

Just around the corner the sun emerged once more, cast long shadows, and burnished trees against a dark slate sky.

Lulled into a false sense of security I walked across a muddy field to photograph ponies sheltering among the trees. They knew that I would soon be walking through torrential bead curtains.

Houses and trees were silhouetted against the clouds’ bonfire smoke. The skies were changing by the second.

I heard gleeful laughter emanating from a parked people carrier whose occupants were impressed by the ponies. As I raised my camera in polite request

the mother of the boys cheerfully wound her window down and, with a smile, said “put your tongue back in”. This was, of course, the signal to stick it out further. Although rain still rolled down the vehicle it had stopped falling from the skies.

As I drafted this post the heavy rain clattered throughout against my window.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, green peas, cornichons, and pickled onions with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Coonawarra.