photographer – Page 2 – derrickjknight

From High Noon To Sunset Strip

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Just after midday, Jackie drove me to Sears Barbers at Milford on Sea for Peter to cut my hair.I am accustomed to barbers laying down their shears to answer the telephone, but today’s hiatus was brought about in a manner I not experienced before.

Peter’s next customer entered the salon with the announcement that “the parking police are out”. Peter dropped his scissors and rushed out of the door. Some time later, he returned, somewhat flushed. By the skin of his teeth he had moved his car just as it was about to receive a ticket. I had never seen a man with a bad back move so fast.

After the application of my barber’s artistry, I did my best to ruin it by taking on the best the high winds could throw at me on the cliff top. I have to say that I was so pummelled by the strongest gusts I have yet experienced, that neither I nor my camera could either remain stable or see what we were doing, as

I focussed on the sea below.

Sometimes the unsteadiness showed in the results.

Midday sun

Even this image of the midday sun and the shot of The Needles above were naturally virtually monochrome.

Walkers 1

Eventually I sought refuge in the car. One of three walkers along the path replied that he didn’t blame me when I announced that I had had enough.

Soon afterwards I was amused to see one of these adopting the same bracing stance that I had taken, as he, also, captured the moment.

We then took a turn round the forest. On a lane outside Bransgore, with the sun shining straight into my eyes, I had not seen the pony crossing immediately in front of us. Fortunately Jackie, whose view was shaded, had seen the animal and slowed down as it ambled on its way.

Dog walkers on lane

Round the next bend a couple walking their dog hastened to the verge.

We were a little too late to catch the sunset at Barton on Sea, however, we were rewarded by one

Sunset

over Roger Cobb’s fields

Sunset in pools

which was reflected in the strip of potholes on the path between them.

This evening we dined on roast duck breasts and sweet potatoes; new potatoes and peas; with wonderful gravy, with which I drank more of the merlot.

The Photo Shoot

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Yesterday I expressed m intention to published the prints from Newark 1993. Today I changed my mind. I decided to hold them in reserve for the next dull day. This could have been one. But it wasn’t. It was one of bright, crisp, sunshine.

Jackie continued potting up

cuttings

in the greenhouse.

After lunch, she drove us to Boscombe and back.

We stopped within sight of the pier.

As I walked down the slope, a young woman walked up.

A boat, approaching from the left, skirted the structure stretching seaward. Was it a lifeboat? The water was certainly rough enough for someone to be in trouble.

At the bottom of the slope two sculptures, one in a garden,

and another on Undercliff Drive, caught m attention.

I then had the serendipitous good fortune

to gatecrash

a photo shoot

conducted by

three delightful

young ladies. The third, given that she was carrying out the same role as me, is not in shot.

As we left this suburb of Bournemouth, the skies gave promise of the good sunset we were to witness later.

Despite a propensity to allow his exuberance to take him swerving all over the road,

this joyful cyclist, seen here approaching Hengistbury Head, kept up a good 20 m.p.h. We parted company with him as he wheeled onto the footpath leading up the headland.

The sunset was ripe

outside Burley;

the murmuration of starlings swirling over Holmsley was a sweeping cloud formation;

the crescent moon exchanged places with its daytime counterpart.

This evening we dined at The Monkey House pub just outside Lymington. The establishment was as packed as ever, demonstrating its quality and the friendliness of the staff. Jackie enjoyed prawn cocktail and gammon steak. My choice was whitebait followed by rib-eye steak. Everything excellently cooked. Jackie drank Amstell and I drank Flack’s Double Drop

The Best Part Of The Day

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Friends Rob and Helen visited for lunch today. They arrived late in the morning and remained until early evening. We spent a very enjoyable afternoon catching up with each other.

For lunch Jackie had made a superb leek and potato soup followed by plentiful cold meats and salads. Rob and I shared a bottle of Languedoc red wine of 2016 vintage.

Helen and I began early on a photographic tour of the garden.

She used a very impressive Fuji bridge camera,

and actually focussed on some of my own favourite subjects, such as begonias

and the rose For Your Eyes Only.

Alongside the latter, Lady Emma Hamilton is rejuvenated,

continuing to bloom in The Rose Garden where red antirrhinums still thrive.

Autumn leaves are beginning to fall. Some, suspended in spiders’ webs, wait to reach this glass table on the decking.

Among the clematises enjoying another flowering are these in the Back Drive Barrier boxes, leading the eye from the purple petunias to the now reddening leaves of Virginia creeper on the back fence;

and this one sharing Margery’s Bed with Japanese anemones.

Petunias continue to cascade from the iron urn,

and from the hanging basket over the Shady Path. Begonias are planted in the bed below and New Guinea impatiens shares the basket.

Here is today’s example of a fuchsia. Helen created many good images of these and others.

We walked up and down paths like the one termed Gazebo

sharing the corner of Margery’s Bed with the Phantom Path.

Just before lunch Jackie and Rob joined us.

Rob was intrigued by the regeneration of the apparently dead yellow leaved tree that has live stems on either side of the wasted trunk.

Given that rain set in early this afternoon, we had chosen the best part of the day to concentrate on the garden.

Jackie and I just grazed on small plates of salad this evening.

Ten Minutes

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Today’s weather was almost all wet, warm, and overcast. Our afternoon began with a trip to Milford on Sea where the excellent Peter at Sears Barbers cut my hair. We then went on a garden centre crawl seeking some boundary stones to hold back the soil around the greenhouse. Eventually we wound up at B & Q in Christchurch where we found, and bought, what we wanted.

Having passed this rather attractive new housing development for retirees on the corner of Bridge Street, we noticed that the sky was lightening over Mudeford.

Consequently we diverted to the harbour where gulls squabbled over a chimney top perch,

and screamed around the boats moored on images of the skies

against a backdrop of dark indigo and pale ochre clouds pierced by rays of a weak sun leaving light blue rents in the cloth.

The boats themselves reflected on their surroundings.

I was not the only photographer grabbing the ten minutes that was all we enjoyed before the light dimmed once more. This gentleman, when I showed him these two pictures, was delighted that I had “got the person in”.

This evening for our dinner Jackie produced meaty cottage pie; colourful carrots, broccoli and green beans; and small new potatoes sautéed with onions, leaks, and red peppers. She drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon.

Not A Dog’s Dinner

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After a boring morning’s admin, I helped The Head Gardener plant tulip and allium bulbs and flowering chrysanthemums. We then enjoyed a salad lunch and drove to

Lymington harbour,

where the rippling water reflected the boats and the blue sky with its attendant clouds

that had been depicted on the canvas above by a skilled painter.

Rowing boats were moored beside the jetty on the seaward side of which yachts were being berthed.

Squawking gulls landed hoping for titbits.

Other craft were coming and going all the time.

Emerging from the forest of masts, a small ferry boat chugged into harbour,

its master steered it to its mooring,

and the passengers disembarked.

The mother of one family returning to land told me that, on this afternoon of sunshine and showers, they had sailed through heavy rain, so it was only now that the junior pirate had been able to wear his Puffin hat.

Once she had fixed the trophy in place, he trotted off clutching his mother’s hand, while his Dad carried his sibling and everything else.

Walking into the first shot of the ferry boat is another photographer, who, when I showed him my portrait of him, smiled and said: “That’s what photography is for”.

Soon a working boat came into view and came to rest at the fishermen’s corner.

I wasn’t sure what was going on here, but a small terrier’s nose gave her a pretty good idea.

She needed some restraint to keep her away from

the slowly jerking crabs piled on top of each other in strong boxes.

One of these living creatures climbed over the lip of its container and landed on its back on the quayside. In my childhood I had often righted stag beetles in the same predicament, but I didn’t fancy providing a helping hand on this occasion.

Instead, I alerted the young man who had brought in his boat, mentioning that I wasn’t going to pick it up. Describing the crab as an escapee, he demonstrated that it couldn’t pinch because their claws were nipped when they were caught. This certainly wasn’t a dog’s dinner.

Before leaving, I walked along Quay Street

to the bottom of Quay Hill, feeling quite pleased that the car was parked by the waterside, so I wouldn’t have to follow the others scaling the heights. The little dog somewhat impeding the older woman’s progress was happy to continue once the younger woman carrying an infant had torn herself away from the shop windows.

On we travelled to the east of the forest. These ponies on the land along Thorneywood Road were soon to be spooked by a vehicle that turned round the bend towards us. This sent the animals running around in rather frantic circles.

Many others were grazing among the gorse. As so often, one smaller variety incongruously tagged onto the big boys.

Gwen and Yvonne may prefer to skip what follows.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s excellent liver and bacon casserole, mashed potato, carrots and green beans. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Reserve des Tuguets Madiran 2014.

On The Beach (2)

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Darting pin points of fleeting snow given added impetus by biting winds crossing Christchurch Bay failed to deter family out to enjoy fun on the sand, despite this morning’s gloom necessitating the use of car headlights.

For the first time this year my fingers tingled painfully as I plied my camera while Jackie snuggled up in the car with her puzzle book. The precipitation did not settle.

Children brought their own transport into play, in the form of smart scooters

and a wobbly bicycle.

Judging by the gesticulation displayed in the twist of her free hand, one young woman was engaged in an animated mobile conversation.

A little girl put the sea wall to the use for which it was intended.

Dogs frolicked with or without their owners,

and made welcome new acquaintances.

A photographer operated on the roaring waves with the use of a tripod and an extension cable.

He wasn’t so concerned with the two ferry boats coming into harbour, bearing a few intrepid passengers.

A crow on the sand watched the incoming waves,

and a stranded cotton reel had once been bobbin’ on the tide.

On this second weekend of the Six Nations rugby tournament, I watched first ITV’s coverage of the game between Italy and Ireland in Rome, followed by Wales v. England on BBC in Cardiff. The first game was far too one-side to enthrall; the second one of the most thrilling I have ever seen.

Our dinner this evening (look away, Yvonne) consisted of Jackie’s hearty liver and bacon casserole, served with boiled potatoes, carrots, and curly kale. This was followed by Sicilian lemon tart and cream. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, my choice was Cimerosa Reserva Privada cabernet sauvignon 2015.

A Vow

Yesterday was a glorious one for a wedding. The sun shone throughout, and it was cool enough in the shade. This was the occasion of the wedding of Mr and Mrs Andrew and Danielle Milwain, and most delightful it was.

When Jackie and I lived in Minstead I had often, en route to Lyndhurst and back, walked past the Strictly Private sign to a rough road leading to the New Forest Outdoor Centre. Yesterday, we were entitled to make our way along the track. I decided to walk, but

by the time I had reached a splendid rhododendron, realised it was probably quite a long way, especially as other cars were clearly going much further on. One of these was Frances’s, being driven by her son-in-law Paul, who hooted, grinned, and gave me a two-fingered salute. This seemed somewhat less than respectful of the young man.

Soon after this, I was relieved to see Jackie’s Modus hove into view. She had correctly assessed that I probably needed to be driven myself.

The venue was quite idyllic. The main building was of wooden construction suitable for the purposes of outdoor activities and was licensed for weddings. The lawn was inviting, and those who were planning to stay overnight had begun to pitch their tents or take occupation of their named huts.

Those gathering for the event

included Louisa with Jessica and Imogen, seen here conversing with their great grandmother.

Eventually it was time for us to take our seats inside and wait, with Andy, the handsome groom, for Rob, his soon-to-be father-in-law, to lead Danni, the beautiful bride, into the Registrar’s temporary domain.

Perhaps the highlight of the ceremony was the abduction of the rings. All had gone swimmingly until my nephew Adam was called upon to present the two gold bands. At precisely that moment, his son, Jasper did a runner. He made it out of the front door before Thea, the little boy’s mother caught up with him. It was then she realised that she held the box containing the rings which she had been just about to hand to her husband. Universal hilarity ensued, the rings were recovered, and the unfazed Registrar continued conducting the proceedings.

I had been given the honour of performing a reading. This was my choice:

A VOW by WENDY COPE

It earned me a kiss from the bride.

After the ceremony we all milled about, snacking on garlic bread and enjoying drinks from the bar, until a splendid salad and cold meats lunch with red and white wine was served in the refectory.

Hundreds of photographs were taken by the guests, and probably 1000+ by the official photographer, who kept set pieces to the absolute minimum.

Here he is shooting Danni with her brother Adam and her parents Elizabeth and Rob.

At lunch in the marquee, the father of the bride gave a tender and entertaining speech, which was followed by one from the groom who omitted no-one in his eloquent thanks, and another from Danni’s friend Laura who claimed to be getting in on the act in the same way as Danni had done at hers.

This morning Aaron presented me with an apt footnote to the great day. I accompanied him to Mole Country Supplies where we purchased materials for a fence he is building for us. This involved two trips with his van. He knew about the wedding and I described the venue. He told me he had spent two days picking stones out of the lawn a year or so ago. I trust anyone reading this who spent last night in a tent will appreciate our friend’s efforts.

Hordle Chinese Take Away provided our dinner this evening. It was as good as usual. We both drank Kingfisher, which doesn’t vary much either.

The Dappled Trunk

This morning I could no longer put off changing the lightbulbs bought yesterday. The picture light which I can reach with the aid of our small stepladder was done then. Three more at ceiling height were a different proposition.
A major task ensued, not the least for the photographer who had to get down on the floor whilst I was scaling the ladder. But first things first. The larger ladder, once discovered in the hall of the other side of the house where reside the unreachable electricity meters, had to be obtained, carried across the front of the building, and negotiated into our flat and through the hall corridor.
Then came the scary bit. The spots in the bay and the kitchen are the highest, but the bayonet fitting bulb in the sitting room is actually the most daunting. This is because two hands are required. The first time I replaced this one the old article was very stiff and tended to throw me off balance when it yielded. That was managed from the platform of our smaller ladder. No way was I trying that again.
There is a lot of internal illumination in our flat, and it tends to fail with some regularity. So you see, if, to quote someone I once met, ‘all I ever [did] around here [was] change lightbulbs’, I’d be kept quite busy.
Before a salad lunch based on a Ferndene Farm shop pork pie, I walked through the underpass and along Malwood Farm and the stream. I had intended to cross the sandbagged ford, but this proved to be far too muddy, so I carried on along the watercourse, eventually returning the way I had come.
The recent terrible arboreal toll necessitated searching out new footpaths not blocked by fallen trees.
It has been reported that three main areas of The New Forest have lost 300 memorable trees. If all we see around us have not been included the losses must be considerably greater.
Tradition has it that in England the month of March ‘comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb’. This March has come in like a lamb. The lion’s visit was in February.
This is why I ventured this way today. Apart from the ford mentioned above the terrain is less boggy and the stream not so full as often.
Sunlight finds its way through the deciduous trees and sparkles in the tinkling water, dappling the surfaces around. My feet rustled the dried leaves. A helicopter chugged overhead. The farm dogs barked. A flapping in some bushes was followed by the splendid flash of a male pheasant as it flew off at my approach.

Ponies, as always, have found their way past obstacles.

One particular trunk took me back to the early 1970s. Page 13 of Becky’s Book features a similar dappled effect on a tree and the fence beside it. I was inspired to make this drawing when gazing out of a children’s home window during a child care review. I was of course fully concentrating on the matter in hand, but took the memory home with me.
Later in the afternoon, idling on my laptop, I looked up Bing images for Castle Malwood Lodge. To my amazement, I discovered that 63, the vast majority of the photographs shown, were taken from my WordPress posts. They were of the house and garden; of Minstead and the forest around; of Elizabeth’s house in West End; even shots from the plane on the way back from Sigoules. Google’s tally was rather less, but it did include a photograph of Regent Street lights from fifty years ago, and Becky’s profile picture from her childhood. Jackie drew up a different Google set which also included my mug shot.
Yesterday’s liver and bacon casserole (recipe) provided our dinner this evening. A casserole surely does improve the next day. Even the Bergerac after three days was unblemished.