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Jackie spent the morning working on the garden beds. I finished aerating the scrawny grass patch and did a little clearing up.
At the house end of the Gazebo Path weeded by Aaron last week, Jackie worked on tidying the Triangular Bed;
and, alongside the Dead End Path, the West Bed.
Viewed from our back drive, the splendid magnolia still soars above the vacant North Breeze jungle.
Runaway pansies from last year’s hanging baskets have seeded at will.
The Head Gardener’s Walk, laid down two years ago, threads through the then non-existent Dragon Bed.
Almost by the hour, tulips are opening out everywhere.
This shield bug vainly hoped to hide behind a vinca.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage casserole, creamy mashed potato and swede, fresh spring greens and runner beans. Neither of us imbibed.
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Yesterday afternoon our peace was disturbed by a clattering and scratching emanating from the wall behind a radiator in the TV half of the sitting room. We used to hear that in the open fireplace. Until we lit a fire. Clearly the jackdaws were back, building their nest in a now boarded up chimney. Sure enough, one was perching sentinel on a chimney pot this morning.
Much of the day was spent attending to the garden, throughout which violets are popping up.
My contribution was generally tidying up and cutting the grass.
The Rose Garden is coming along quite well,
as is the Front Garden.
I was close enough to this wasp in the orange shed to be sure that we do have them.
Jackie’s efforts included relining the Waterboy’s pond which had sprung a leak;
replenishing the soil in pots and hanging baskets, during which she discovered her first clutch of evil little vine weevils;
and poking holes with an aerator into the less healthy looking grass patches.
While we took drinks in the Rose Garden before dinner, Jackie spotted that the Big Beast has shown us what it thinks of my pathetic round peg in the square hole. It has simply moved along a touch and ripped off a lot more fencing. We really do hope it is not a rat.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious lamb jalfrezi, savoury rice, and vegetable samosas. Jackie, having drunk Hoegaarden earlier, did not join me in my Bergerac 2015. Not that she would have done anyway. It is not her tipple.
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This morning I continued work on the rose garden, Jackie cut back plants in other beds, and
Aaron made considerable headway on weeding the gravel paths.
After lunch, Jackie and I drove into the forest. The terrain around Fritham seems to be the home of miniature ponies. I tend to call them all Shetlands, because I don’t know any better. As we drove past a car park we noticed one vehicle surrounded by these little creatures. Naturally we turned round to investigate.
Brian, who is concerned that I don’t feed carrots to the ponies, should be very pleased that a little girl was doing just that.
When the time came for our little friend to wave goodbye
the fickle animals moved on to see what they could scrounge from the next vehicle.
A few larger ponies did mingle with the smaller ones,
one of which had me wondering whether there was such a thing as a Dalmatian pony. Later research revealed that it is probably a miniature British spotted pony,
which, when a young woman on the other side of the car park opened her car boot to change her footwear, trotted over and stood patiently, silently, behind her.
Perhaps she felt its breath, for, with a joyful exclamation, she turned and patted it, just as she was in the process of prising off a footwear boot.
Our return home was via Bramshaw, where black-faced sheep spilled into the road.
Upon investigation I discovered that the Newbridge Telephone Kiosk is now a repository for local social history. Among the photographs inside is one of the phone box when it was in use as such, with information about the iconic design and its creator;
Images of St Mary’s Church and an early wedding can be seen through a broken window;
two more weddings, seen here through murky glass, are also remembered.
This evening we dined on tasty pork chops with apple sauce, flavoursome sage and onion stuffing; creamy swede and potato mash; crisp carrots, broccoli and green beans; and piquant cauliflower cheese. I finished the merlot, and Jackie abstained.
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It is perhaps no bad thing that the sun went AWOL today. This is because we spent the morning on spring clearance, and in the afternoon there wasn’t much light shone on what still needs to be done. Nevertheless I wandered around to capture images of the current state of play.
Here we have the result of Aaron’s work on the back drive. In the second picture daffodils and vincas are thriving.
Daffodils and camellias appear in most of the views, like this one that sculptured Florence looks upon,
and these from different sides of the Palm Bed.
Hellebores, such as these in the Kitchen Bed are also ubiquitous.
The Head Gardener’s Walk adds cyclamens to the mix.
We’ll get around to the Cryptomeria
and Weeping Birch Beds soon.
Jackie has spent some time clearing out the hanging baskets and pots
and tidying the patio.
The previously scarcely-existent front garden has bedded in well, euphorbias standing sentinel,
and daffodils, primulas, and hellebores adding colour.
The Monday Pie of our childhoods followed the Sunday roast meal. This was the left-over beef or lamb minced up in a Spong and turned into cottage or shepherd’s pie. Jackie has her own version. I know it isn’t Monday, but then her roast dinners are not confined to Sundays, and we enjoyed roast lamb yesterday. Her pie, on which we dined this evening, consists of the meat coated in gravy, wrapped in tin foil, and heated through very slowly in the oven. This renders it superbly succulent. The dish is topped with roast potatoes and mushrooms. Today it was served with sage and onion stuffing, carrots, cabbage, and green beans. With this, Jackie drank Hoegaarden. My choice was Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2014.
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Storm Doris had blown about the bag of twigs gathered up a couple of days ago, and dumped more on the beds and paths in the garden.
The Shady Path, with its Camellia shrubs didn’t look too bad, except for the chair blown over on the decking.
We picked up a few more bits of tree and went for a drive in the forest.
Beautifully situated among daffodils on the village green at Portmore is another Telephone Box book exchange.
I exchanged greetings with a friendly jogger running along the verge of the road between Beaulieu and Dibden Purlieu,
as I was walking back a short way into the forest, to the opposite side of the road, where numerous temporary pools reflected the trees they surrounded.
Friars Cliff Café was full to bursting as children, taking advantage of half-term in Hampshire’s schools, had fun on the beach before taking refreshments. We enjoyed a brunch there.
This evening I made prints of Sam and Louisa in the skip from Ratty, the post of two days ago; and two little girls doing handstands and running on the sand. Louisa’s picture was by request. The others were for the mother of the other children who preferred not to have the pictures posted here.
Later we dined on pizza and salad with which I finished the merlot opened three days ago.
Bill Edney had the unenviable task of getting those of us schoolboys at Wimbledon College who could not manage Latin through ‘O’ Level Geography after several terms without a teacher. Today I remembered a different anecdote from that told in the link highlighted above.
Sheep, I know do not like long, lush, grass. How do I know? Because Mr Edney, a bluff countryman, publicly humiliated a classmate by ridiculing him for writing in an essay that sheep “like long, lush, grass”. According to the master they most definitely do not. How were we townies to know that? This lasting intelligence prevented me from seeking ovine assistance on our patch of overgrown grass. Having no sheep, I sheared it myself.
It still looks manky at the moment, but should perk up now the air can get to it.
This exercise exposed the tortoise, removing its hibernation cover.
Close examination of this view along the Heligan Path reveals that
purple crocuses are now emerging.
These paler ones share with snowdrops the shade of hellebores in the Weeping Birch Bed.
During the morning the warm sunshine brought out insects such as bees on hellebores
and on snowdrops;
and a Red Admiral butterfly basking on laurel leaves,
seeking camouflage in autumn leaves,
and slaking its thirst on snowdrops.
This view across the Palm Bed leads to the grass patch.
Jackie spent the morning clearing and thinning areas such as the erigeron clumps by the windows to the living room. This will soon be carpeted once more with daisy-like flowers.
This evening we dined on roast lamb, Jackie’s sage and onion stuffing, sautéed potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, carrots, cauliflower, and greens. I finished the Cote du Rhone.
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Today, I wandered around the garden contemplating spring clearing, and investigating what’s come up.
There are many different primulas;
borage;
pulmonaria;
snowdrops
and hellebores galore;
daffodils such as February Gold and Têtes-à-Têtes;
crocuses;
irises;
and cyclamen.
Views across the garden reveal most of these plants, and what needs to be done. Here we stand on the Brick Path to the left of the Heligan one.
The Phantom Path runs alongside Margery’s Bed.
This is the Palm Bed;
and this the Heligan Path winding between the Cryptomeria and Weeping Birch Beds.
This afternoon Jackie lopped the branches off the Christmas tree and filled an orange bag with those and the campaniflora clematis cuttings.
Roast lamb served with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, crunchy carrots, cauliflower and green beans was Jackie’s meal this evening. I had some, too. This was followed by lemon meringue pie and cream. I drank Vacqueras cru des Côtes du Rhône 2015.
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Somewhat encouraged by the lack of adverse effects on my knackered knees after the long, flat, walk round Keyhaven and Lymington Nature Reserve, I decided to take the somewhat shorter, yet undulating, route through Honeylake Wood. At about halfway I ventured into the undergrowth, after which I turned back.
A pedestrian gate breaking a hedge serves as an entrance to the field leading to the wood.
The hedge was reflected in the muddy verge beside Christchurch Road.
A bent and aged oak on one edge of the field bowed beneath the prevailing wind,
which even around mid-day bit into me as I crossed to the wood.
On my way in the leafy path offered welcoming shelter,
while a sight of Downton’s cottages as I left it gave notice that home was near, if not in sight.
Often springy underfoot, the forest floor,
over which squirrels scampered,
was, especially near the stream, occasionally waterlogged.
The wind roared overhead. There was much evidence of broken trees,
and, although some autumn leaves had not yet reached the ground,
others glowed in the sunlight
which played among the trees.
The bridge had been so severely damaged as to deter anyone from leaning on the rickety rail; a sapling had been converted to an entrance arch.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic sausage casserole, creamy mashed potatoes, and crisp carrots, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts. I drank Basson Shiraz 2014. The others didn’t drink their Kronenbourg 1664 until afterwards so that didn’t count.
A minute particle of my casserole splashed up from my plate and onto my grandfather shirt. Jackie and Ian swooped on me to supplement the stains and Becky grabbed the camera. I was set up, I swear it.
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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.
