Tag: pools

A Deserted Beach

I have been struggling against a heavy cold for three days. It was not until after lunch today that my coughing, spluttering, sneezing, and leaking nose had dried, and my dull head cleared adequately for me to accept the offered forest drive from Jackie. Yesterday I had declined.

It was therefore a shock to step out just after lunch into a gloomy day with a temperature just two degrees above freezing. Winter had crept up.

Although it is Sunday, there was very little sign of life.

The seasonal roadside pools, reflecting overhead branches, like these at East Boldre, are all now replenished; autumn leaves floating on their surfaces and scattered over the sward.

The narrow, winding, Tanners Lane with its ancient hedgerows exposing banked roots is, in warmer weather, popular enough for us to avoid the difficulty of finding a safe parking spot without slipping into a ditch.

The owners of this field have ensured, by blocking the entrance, that it will not be used as such.

This was therefore the perfect day for us to enjoy unhindered access to the beach with its views of the Isle of Wight.

A line of shore birds searched for food along the shallows of the tidal Lymington River.

This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s spicy chilli con carne and rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I started another bottle of the Gran Selone before settling down to watch the World Cup football match between England and Senegal.

Oak Leaves Swept Along

This morning Becky drove Dillon and his family to Heathrow to see him safely off to America for the next month. All went smoothly and the ladies returned with Ellie early this evening.

After lunch, Jackie took me on a forest drive.

Ponies stood out in a distant hazy landscape on yet another shirt-sleeves mild afternoon.

At Puttles Bridge I passed a pile of sawn limbs from a recently fallen tree,

and followed a family of cyclists approaching the bridge.


Rippling, fast running, Ober Water had filled somewhat since our last visit.

Oak leaves gathered among exposed tree roots and swept along a surface clear enough to see the river bed.

Just one cluster of mushrooms was visible.

The dried pool beside South Weirs Telephone Box was reappearing, and had tempted ponies to come for their lunch

alongside neighbouring houses.

This evening we all dined on succulent roast chicken; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes; firm carrots, cauliflower and broccoli, with meaty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Santa Julia, Reserve, 2020.

Along St Leonard’s Road

Once more I spent time this afternoon in EE’s Lymington High Street store. Those who have followed the saga of the last few days will know that I have been unable to extract the all-important replacement PAC code from O2 to enable the change of mobile phone supplier to EE to take place.

I decided to ask EE to sort this out, and made an appointment with Caleb, the store manager. First I had to speak to O2’s Customer Services representative. My new helper made the call to negotiate the robot machines and arrive at the relevant department, then passed the phone to me. The procedure I had gone through yesterday was repeated until I requested that the two respective employees spoke directly to each other. They both obliged. The conclusion was reached that O2 could not renew the code because their system showed it had been activated, and would stay in force until November. EE has it stated as rejected, preventing them from proceeding. Definitely a question of left and right hands. Caleb passed the issue to his special projects team who will liaise with their counterparts in O2. This could take up to 48 hours.

Our later restorative forest drive took Jackie and me along St Leonard’s Road which runs from East End past St Leonard’s Grange.

The late afternoon light cast shadows and reflections across the recently accumulated pools along the verges and gateways.

One reflected post

was from a fence stretching towards the Isle of Wight.

An apple tree was producing ripening fruit.

Plentiful pheasants were in evidence, possibly from a breeding farm nearby.

Some romp freely among the fields;

others prefer the walls of the ruined medieval grange;

or loiter in the hedgerows.

The more suicidally inclined try to outrun the car like young squirrels, or deliberately play chicken by dashing across it. Maybe these options are preferable to waiting to be peppered with buckshot.

This evening we dined on three prawn preparations – hot and spicy, salt and pepper, and Tempranillo, served on Jackie’s colourful and wholesome savoury rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Puglia Primitivo. 

Materials Available To Us

Because of the upcoming bank holiday weekend it will be a few days before I am able to upload more pictures.

I am therefore unable to attach new ones to the text of our forest drive of 25th, so I am substituting similarish images from my archives.

After a night of what I call proper rain – that is, steady non-violent precipitation rather than weighty plops dropped at sudden intervals and bouncing off baked soil surfaces to sizzle in the scorching heat –

shallow pools were beginning to return to the moorland

and potholed gravel drives.

Shallow streams began to ripple once more,

and the landscape began to brighten.

Ponies could once again be reflected beside pools,

although this one at the western East Boldre corner of St Leonards Road, often, in wetter periods providing ponies with gazpacho soup, remained no more than a slight puddle before a bank of gorse and bracken.

A pair of donkeys seen regularly on Sowley Road

sporting patterns of hide as wet as those of these ponies a year ago,

noisily munched

apples dropped from a tree above. (OK, the donkeys pictured are eating carrots, but we have to use materials available to us).

Kayakers were observed on Lymington River as we waited for the level crossing into the town.

This evening we dined on succulent chicken marinaded in mango and chilli sauce and Jackie’s superb savoury rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden, I drank Calvet Prestige Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021, and Flo and Dillon drank fruit cordial. This was what had been in the process of being cooked when yesterday’s outage hit. This had been caused by a skein of geese flying into power cable which exploded in protest.

Sopping

In mid-morning a smoky burnished golden brown cupola had descended over Downton. By lunchtime rain had set in for the day. Afterwards I posted https://derrickjknight.com/2022/03/16/a-knights-tale-116-a-ploughing-contest/

Peering through a rain-smeared windscreen Jackie and I took a drive in search of wet ponies.

On a soggy bank beside Hatchet Pond damp donkeys tore at prickly hedges, while the usual

pair of mallards occupied the waterlogged terrain seeming to extend the pond on the banks of which

gulls sat with dripping feathers.

More sodden donkeys sought sustenance beneath naked trees at East Boldre;

hardy ponies on the moor were shrouded in rain-mist.

This very much seasonal reflecting pool is filling up once more.

Sopping ponies pastured along Tanners Lane, at the end of which

fresh pools had formed at the entrance to the beach.

This evening Becky and Flo cooked a very tasty chicken risotto which we all enjoyed. Becky and Ian drank Zesty white; Jackie drank Pinot Blush; and I drank more of the Monastrell.

“We Would Have Driven Past”

Following a suggestion by Yvette Prior, I spent the morning changing the categories of my “A Knight’s Tale” series of posts. They are now categorised as A Knight’s Tale, thus giving readers who may wish to view earlier episodes easier access. The first three also contain my diary entries for their days. I have still to work out how to separate that material from the narrative.

On another unseasonably warm and sunny afternoon we took a drive into the forest.

Cattle and donkeys shared the green at Ibsley, the equines sometimes spilling onto the road to annoy the traffic.

One calf sat beside a pool formed from the recent rains now covering the soggier sward, reflecting the trees above, and bearing fallen leaves.

The greens at North Gorley offered cold soup from similar winterbourne pools. One pony, it’s hooves beneath the surface on which it sent ripples, remained dining for some time.

A few pannage pigs and piglets were once again released onto Newtown Lane.

On our way back through Ibsley we noticed a woman photographing toadstools. Jackie parked and I disembarked to join the other photographer. She told me that her friend had sent her in search of these poisonous Fly Agarics and she was delighted to have found them. I said that had we not seen her in action we would not have spotted these gems and would have driven straight past. I asked her to thank her friend from me, too.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s very wholesome stewp with fresh crusty seeded bread and butter. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden while I drank Chevalier de Fauvert Comté Tolosan Rouge 2019.

Rippling Reflections

Dark, brooding, precipitating skies were occasionally brightened today by suddenly, briefly, escaping sunshine. The opposite was also true, on the trip we took into a waterlogged forest after purchasing three bags of compost at Ferndene Farm Shop.

I left the car when Jackie parked on the verge of the Thorney Hill end of Burley Road. My intention was to take a shot from the top of the hill of the waterlogged landscape stretching out below. A pair of siren mallards called me from a winterbourne lake some way down. Before I reached them the ducks had disappeared; dark indigo clouds loured overhead; pattering raindrops washed my hair; my woollen jacket took on the aroma of wet sheep; and I craved automatic wipers for my blurry specs.

As Magnus Magnusson on TV’s ‘Mastermind’ would have said, I thought, “I’ve started so I’ll finish”. I was wet, anyway. I failed to photograph the downhill expanse, but

I did capture raindrops sending ripples over the surface of the downhill running streams and the reflective pools that had been created by the recent days’ and last night’s storms. The forest fauna, more sensible than I, kept well under cover somewhere.

This afternoon Jackie planted a vast number of seedlings into nursery pots in the greenhouse and together we carried the

rusted Ace Reclaim bench to the concrete patio where it will provide a platform for larger planters.

This evening we dined on tangy lemon chicken; moist chilli-spiced ratatouille; tender green beans; and boiled new potatoes, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Recital.

Time For A Drink

I had managed, by a rather cumbersome method, to solve my problem of being unable to send readers links to earlier posts after WordPress’s recent developments. SueW of https://weeklyprompts.com/2021/03/22/changes-to-the-wp-admin-navigation-revised-support/ then published a much better solution, for which I thank her.

Early on this bright, sunny, morning Jackie drove us to Ferndene Farm Shop where she stocked up on fresh provisions while I sat in the car with plenty of time to photograph

this colour-co-ordinated woman selecting six pots of tete-a-tetes through my passenger window. Each one was carefully selected by picking them up, carefully examining them, retaining some, and replacing others.

Afterwards we continued on a forest drive.

As I stepped out to photograph this beautiful landscape, I immediately came upon an unsightly spread of fly-tipping.

I looked down upon a pair of separated ponies grazing on soggy terrain.

Towards the Thorney Hill end of the road I again stepped out to photograph the landscape dotted with ponies who were very quickly to surprise me by following each other

up the slope, off the gorse-laden moorland and into the road along which they clopped past me to

drink at an extensive winterbourne pool.

Completely oblivious of the steady flow of traffic, further waves of ponies gathered from all directions with the one purpose of slaking their thirst.

At one point a trio of bays advanced through the gorse behind me. They were not going to stop. I realised I was standing on their trail beside the trough, and just had time to scramble off it, turn, and photograph the leader before they get their heads down to slake their thirsts.

Stragglers, through which vehicles slalomed their way down, continued to climb along the road, taking their turns to drink.

Once satisfied, some groups wandered off towards Thorney Hill; others remained to chew gorse.

Along Tiptoe Road I stopped to photograph a pair of kids on the far side of a field. As I returned to the car, their owner, the very friendly Lizzie Knight, approached and invited me in to make more photographs. Her pets were just four days old and independent enough to sample anything that looked edible. As always, clicking on any image will access its gallery, and further clicks will enlarge the pictures.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome chicken and vegetable stewp and fresh crusty bread, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Mendoza Red Blend.

Home For Dinner?

In my post ‘Not Done With Pickwick’ I featured Frank Reynolds’s colour plates from Hodder & Stoughton’s publication. For a similar reason I scanned a batch of this artist’s work on ‘The Old Curiosity Shop’.

My copy is the limited edition of 1913, signed by the artist: No. 112 of 350. This is not what booksellers would call a fine example.

Although it is vellum bound, it lacks its silk ties and is rather grubby and a bit warped on the outside. These end-papers would probably have been repeated at the back of the book, but seem to have been replaced by blank sheets at a later date. The illustrations are pristine and remain protected by the original tissue.

‘THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP’

‘KIT’

‘DICK SWIVELLER’

‘QUILP’S WHARF’

‘DICK SWIVELLER AND SOPHY WACKLES’

‘KIT AND HIS MOTHER”

‘SAMPSON BRASS AND QUILP’

‘MESSRS CODLIN AND SHORT’

‘LITTLE NELL’

Frank Reynolds’s exquisite paintings speak for themselves. Clicking on each of these individual illustrations will reveal the lines of text to which they apply.

I paused here so that we could go for a forest drive, and will take up the task again tomorrow.

We began with a visit to Shallowmead Garden Centre where Jackie had seen an owl on her last visit that she could not resist. She just had to go back and buy it. For some reason she came out of the shop with three.

Cattle on the road slightly impeded our departure from Norleywood.

Several calves crossed a stream to join the adults and they all set off down the road, making me hope any driver coming round the bend would have their wits about them.

Donkeys on the road approaching East End tempted me out of the car.

This enabled me to investigate the woodland with its reflective pools;

its mossy banks, fallen trees, and fungus on a mossy stump.

Bare branches were silhouetted against the changing skies;

catkins swung from others.

While I was occupied with this, Jackie noticed that the donkeys may have been returning home for dinner.

The skies, constantly changing, beamed over Beaulieu.

This evening we dined on more of Jackie’s flavoursome sausages in red wine; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots, and firm Brussels sprouts, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.

Rolling Over And Thinking About It

This morning I watched the Channel 4 broadcast from Ahmedabad of the last rites of the English Cricket tour of India.

Soon after lunch we visited the pharmacy at Milford on Sea, then drove into the forest.

At Norleywood Car Park we found I was not the only person interested in photographing the wild life. The gentleman in the last two images in this gallery adopted an enviable position from which to obtain his pictures. I was happy to explain to the woman in the first three photographs the story of

the Shetland ponies, which cropped the grass,

ignoring the fallen trees.

Along the road to Beaulieu, many of the trees stand in nature’s water buckets throughout the winter.

Perhaps the ponies gathered here today wished to be near their water source.

I really identified with the seated pony in the final image of the above gallery. All these equine adults when seeking to rise to their feet adopt the practice of first rolling over and thinking about it before stiffly staggering up. This, of course, is why I found the earlier photographer’s position enviable.

Driving along Saint Leonard’s Road past a waterlogged verge, Jackie noticed that the recent drop in the water level had left the surface algae drying on reflected bramble washing lines. These are her pictures;

these are mine.

At the corner of Saint Leonard’s and Norleywood Roads a pony drinking gazpacho soup took umbrage at my attention, shook her head, and sped off into the gorse.

It was a rather startled cockerel that I photographed along South Baddersley Road. Seconds earlier he had been canoodling with a group of guinea fowl. When I unsuccessfully attempted to focus on them they took off, loudly flapping and squawking. He must have wondered what he had done to upset them.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, pickled onions, and wallies, with which we finished the Sauvignon Blanc.