Tag: pony

Dump Trip And Forest Drive

This morning we transported eight bags of garden refuse, a rusted sack barrow, and two lidless dustbins surplus to our requirements, to Efford Recycling Centre.

The blue-sky-bright sunshine belied the acute chill in the air as we took a forest drive towards the end of the afternoon.

The postbox outside the eponymously named cottage on Wootton Road sports an Armistice memorial.

Autumn colour lingers along Holmsley Passage where the stream ripples across the larger ford;

along the Bisterne Close woodland fallen leaves and mossy trunks were lit by late shafts of sunlight,

and a bay pony cropped and chewed holly leaves impervious to prickles in her leather-lined jaws.

We were just in time for sunset at Barton on Sea’s Marine Drive East,

where cloud colour was muted when looking east.

This evening we dined on breaded scampi, chips, onion rings, and peas.

How Many Balls?

On this overcast, imperceptibly drizzly morning I made a good start on reading Jane Eyre for the second time after all but 60 years.

After lunch the sun came out to play with the pink climbers and white solanum on the front garden trellis, as Jackie drove us to Nomansland and back.

Donkeys made a nuisance of themselves on the road at Bramshaw.

A trio of guinea fowl were engaged in their customary pecking up ticks at Nomansland,

while an enforced hiatus in the cricket match in progress was brought about by an injury to a player who received a ball on the forehead. One of the players in the second picture appears to be indicating the point of contact.

The last three pictures in this gallery of the action are Jackie’s. The rest are mine. Those feeling so inclined may count how many balls are in the air in my set. Enlargement in the gallery may be helpful.

The first picture featuring spectators is mine, the other three, by Jackie,

who also photographed scenes in and around the soggy pool, where,

as we were leaving, a pony and her very young foal were to drink. The first five are my pictures, the next five, Jackie’s.

This evening we dined on meaty pork spare ribs; tender green beans; and Jackie’s colourful savoury rice and moist ratatouille.

Patient Access

Jackie and I each subscribe to Patient Access, being a site to test the patience of anyone, let alone patients considerably older than the designers of this facility.

The idea is to offer a secure method of ordering regular medication, presumably safe for anyone subject to excitable blood pressure, yet definitely to be avoided by valetudinarians.

Persistent, tenacious, and generally even-tempered am I, yet there is nothing more likely to blow my equanimity than a system presumably created for seniors with limited computer skills which constantly adds new hoops to leap through in order to gain admission. Today I had such a problem managing to “Set up two-factor authentication with a third-party app” from which I was timed out each time I attempted it.

What, may I ask in my ignorance, is one of those?

That was enough to spark my impatience. On this overcast afternoon following last night’s rainfall, we drove to our GP surgery where the very helpful and understanding receptionist, knowing exactly our position which was shared by themselves and so many others, took details of our requests that will provide information to be completed by the pharmacist on a prescription form. In other words we are back to the paper method.

After this, we took a short forest drive to test my eyes.

The theme of the new postbox decoration at Tiptoe escapes me. Perhaps my brain has been overtaxed.

A grazing grey pony was easy to pick out among the moorland gorse flanking Holmsley Passage

which was crossed by an ambling cow further up the hill.

We safely negotiated a pair of horse riders on Bisterne Close, where

the seasonal verge pool now carried buttercups, water buttercups, and budding irises.

This evening’s dinner consisted of further helpings of Jackie’s authentic chicken jalfrezi meal.

Reflections Of Pilley

Knowing that this morning’s dry weather was due to turn wet – which it did – Jackie and I took a forest drive that needed to extend no further than Pilley where rich photographic pickings were to be found.

As we clanked and clattered across the cattle grid into the village we found a veritable herd of shaggy haired donkeys foraging, sleeping, and scratching around the green at Pilley Street and May Lane

Some sprawled somnolently, their hooves tucked beneath them;

a small group surrounded a car attempting to drive down the lane;

others tore and crunched at prickly bushes;

one adventurous animal investigated a parked truck.

Some of those not using low scratching posts engaged in mutual grooming. The last of this group of pictures was obtained through the passenger window glass. I would the window down, saying I wonder whether I could get a clearer shot through the opening. “You won’t” said Jackie. An instant later the eye of a donkey appeared in my viewfinder. The hopeful animal had obscured my sight as it attempted to enter the Modus.

We wondered whether to take home to Dillon a baseball cap left on a post.

Further on, we witnessed much reflective activity on Pilley’s lake,

including that of Canada geese,

a pair of mallards,

and the ripples beneath an inactive set of branches.

Opposite the bus stop a grey pony enjoyed a lunch of cold soup. The last six of these pictures are Jackie’s.

Later, I continued the tedious task of facilitating enlargement of the pictures in the following posts from the Classic Editor period:

Elizabeth Chose Her Moment
A Leaving Present
Progress Report

This evening we all dined on tender roast beef, crisp roast potatoes, parsnips, and Yorkshire pudding, with firm carrots and Brussels sprouts, and meaty gravy. Ellie enjoyed her squashed vegetables with gravy and horseradish sauce. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.

Fire And Ice

Early this afternoon we received a further oil-fired radiator from Amazon. This had kept us in until 4 p.m. when we ventured out into another cold-blue-sky day in search of a forest sunset.

We drove up Holmsley Passage turning right into Clay Hill at the top.

There the golden disc flirted with trees and clouds,

burnishing the trees above their reflections in the pool home to mallards,

past which a solitary grey pony emerged from the dingy dusk.

Along Bisterne Close the fiery sun slowly slipped into indigo clouds above icy, reflecting, recently filled concavities.

Further verges along the close contained some of the many lingering ice patterns in the woods and moorland, featuring leaves above and below them.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken stewp with fresh crusty bread. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.

Stretching For Holly

Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating spent the morning fixing the boiler problem which turned out to be water in the oil; it seems it was not the drop in temperature which had stopped it working, but the very heavy rain which has got in somewhere. To be more sure Jackie has ordered a tank drier bag from Amazon.

The rain having desisted, much of the floodwater has receded and the icicles melted, although , on this still chilly but dry day ice not reached by the low, weak, sun remains, as we discovered on a forest drive.

Boldre Bridge overlooked a rippling stream, still bearing ice, and reflecting trees and fenceposts.

Nearby, Rodlease Lane still bore arboreal images in pools disturbed by passing vehicles.

Long shadows of a woman and a donkey stretched across the banks of Hatchet Pond and the potholed drive to it;

gulls admired their reflections in the remnants of its ice, while a paddling coot looked on.

The drift paddock on Furzey Lane reflected on the icy pool surrounding it, where

patterns remained unthawed.

A pony reaching up for holly in Ran’s Wood was lit by the lowering sun, which had

set by the time we arrived at Milford on Sea..

Later we dined on Cook’s very tasty vegetarian lasagna brought by Elizabeth last week, and Jackie’s equally flavoursome Chicken and vegetable stewp with delicious garlic bread brought by our sister from the same source. I drank more of the Shiraz and no-one else did.

Black Swans

Our friend, Paul Soren posted a picture yesterday that I said I thought would make a good screensaver.

This morning Jackie took me on a forest drive.

We began with the woodland alongside Bisterne Close where

the soft forest floor alongside contained

dry acorn cups,

fallen branches and crisp autumn leaves,

clustered beneath long decaying trunks and branches gradually returning to the soil.

The sculptural quality of an abandoned artefact was somewhat incongruous outside one of the houses.

One of the many pools that have spent much of the summer in a parched condition now reflects neighbouring gates.

Ponies perused our passing along Holmsley Passage.

Our friend mentioned above sent me an e-mail asking me to feel free to use his picture as my screensaver and sending me a jpg image of a black swan and cygnets somewhere outside Melbourne seen through his rain-splashed windscreen.

I now see a picture from the other side of the world every time I switch on my computer.

For dinner this evening we repeated yesterday’s fare and beverages.

A Damp Drive

On another day of gales, gloom, and bursts of weak sunshine our brief forest drive took us along

Bisterne Close,

with its glistening autumn leaves soaking on soggy verges;

its mossy rooted and speckled lichen coated trees;

other one-eyed specimens with fanged exposed roots rising from ancient hedgerows;

a Magnum mushroom;

and bedraggled ponies wandering across into the woodland.

On the outskirts of Burley I disturbed a herd of fearful deer who didn’t know which way to run.

A so often when we dine beneath heavy rain beating on our Velux window overhead with gale force winds gusting outside, we blessed Barry for sealing our kitchen extension roof after several others had failed. Tonight’s meal consisted of pork spare ribs in sweet barbecue sauce with Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice and tender green beans, accompanied by more of the Cabernet Sauvignon for her, and of the Bordeaux for me.

What To Do With Flies

For much of the morning and the first half hour of a sweltering afternoon Jackie continued weeding the Brick Path, taking her own

before

and after photographs;

meanwhile I filled several trug-loads of dead-headed roses and weeds pulled up from the beds along the way.

Afterwards I printed another batch of A4 prints of him at work for Nick, who finished his work today.

Early this evening Jackie and I took a drive into the forest.

There seemed to be three options for photography when we arrived at Hatchet Pond: a man throwing sticks into the lake for his dogs to splash after, crows pecking in the grass, and, as a last resort my lens might reach a few groups on the far bank. As I disembarked from the Modus the man and his dogs walked away, and the rooks flew off.

Fortunately, a young lady aimed a judicious kick on the far side.

On Furzey Lane, a young foal, looking enviously at his mother’s tail, the switching of which he tried to emulate with no effect, did his best to dislodge the flies which pestered him, with ineffective kicks and waggling of his abbreviated little brush.

Along Lodge Lane a colourful pheasant strutted in the verge grasses, and inquisitive field horses displayed their fly protection gear.

This evening we all dined on Jackie’s pasta bolognese with fresh salad. The Culinary Queen and Ian drank Hoegaarden, Becky drank Zesty, and I finished the Côtes du Rhône.

Time To Let The Cattle Loose

On a largely overcast yet dry day Jackie donated some property to one Charity Shop in Highcliffe before lunch and we both did the same with two small filing cabinets to the Oakhaven Hospice shop in the afternoon.

We then took a drive into the forest.

On the first green at Bramshaw a couple of donkeys shared their pasturage

with a sheep and two lambs.

I photographed Jackie’s attempt to catch me focussing on the most inquisitive of the donkeys which, when I left them for the sheep, stuck its head through Jackie’s window.

Further along the road was claimed by cattle including our old friends Splash and Blackie the Highland Bulls. Jackie produced the close-ups of these two fearsome beasts.

A solitary pony perched precariously on the slope of the verge.

Another bovine group trampling the woodland at Furzley reminded us that this is about the time that cattle who have been kept under shelter during the winter are generally released to roam.

This evening we dined on succulent fillet steaks; chips, roast tomatoes, and garden peas with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Bordeaux.