Early this morning I watched a recording of last night’s rugby World Cup semi final match between England and South Africa.
Later, sporting shirt sleeves, I wandered among the garden plants with my camera.
As usual, accessing the gallery by clicking on any image will reveal individual titles.
Before dinner, Jackie drove me to Hatchet Pond to catch the sunset.
While waiting for the sun to reach the lake I was entranced by
the calm communing of a lone woman who was unknowingly blessed by a rainbow as light rain fell.
Jackie had also glimpsed the colourful phenomenon as it appeared above the car park.
We each photographed the sunset, the last two in this gallery being by Jackie.
The above mentioned dinner consisted of Jackie’s delicious chicken and vegetable stewp followed by her spicy pumpkin pie. We drank more of the same wines of yesterday.
This was a morning of brief showers alternating with bright sunshine giving way to a gloomy afternoon.
As we drove out of our front garden I noticed that Félicité Perpétue is thoroughly confused about whether she is six months early to bloom, or six months late.
We started along the coast road where a couple walked along the clifftop and the Isle of Wight and The Needles sparkled beneath a moody skyscape. Soon we returned back up Downton Lane where we
noticed tractor tyre tracks leading to the stubble of Roger Cob’s field.
We were setting off to Lakeside Café at nearby Bashley for brunch, after which we intended to continue a forest drive. This was to take some time waiting for various traffic holdups and diversions to clear. Our blocked lanes were too narrow for us to see why vehicles in front kept exercising three or four point turns.
On Hordle Lane we eventually saw the police had closed the road because a van had mounted the verge, crossed a small garden, and ended up in a field. Backtracking we tried Arnewood Bridge Road
where an enormous Bugler Coach, far too big for the road, had stopped traffic in both directions as it tried to negotiate a bend. I have imported this different model from the company website.
Finally we were ensnared on Silver Street where the Honda in front of us skilfully negotiated a turn leaving us enough room to follow suit and pass the tailback who had no idea what they would soon encounter.
A rainbow blessed us on Brockenhurst Road and we eventually
reached our goal where I tucked into a beef burger and chips while Jackie enjoyed her cheese and onion toastie and matching crisps.
When we arrived rain fell filling the lakes and the muddy pools on the approaching gravel paths. Each fisher sported a large umbrella unfurled as we left for home, pausing en route to observe
the waterfowl on the banks of Ballard Lake.
This evening we all dined on Jackie’s succulent lemon chicken, her colourful savoury rice; tender broccoli stems; and tangy macaroni cheese with which she drank Wairau Cove Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2022, and I drank Paarl Shiraz 2022.
With about two days to go before Sam’s expected arrival into Port St Charles, excitement was enhanced by
a golden sunset, which is almost a cliché. Not in Port St Charles.
Jessica watches as Louisa shows her photographs to Dixie Dean, the Society’s cameraman.
Birds like the Yellow breasted Sunbury,
and the Barbados Bullfinch, the only indigenous species, which is found nowhere else, take advantage of nature’s camouflage,
as does the land crab.
The grackle
and the sanderling don’t seem to need it.
This gentleman demonstrates the method of releasing milk from a coconut.
For a number of years my friend bo Beolens, who has written a number of bird books and who, as Fatbirder, runs an international birding website used my picture of the Lesser Antillean Bullfinch to illustrate his Barbados page.
Just before the expected arrival time even the previously bright blue Caribbean Sea darkened,
and a rainbow arced over Port St Charles.
I was regularly in touch with Radio Nottingham to deliver live updates from my mobile phone. That night, I opened our balcony doors so that listeners could hear the deafening waves crashing in from the Atlantic. Unknown to me, these were the forces that had caused Sam to drop his anchor to prevent him from arriving during the night.
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.
Jackie wandered around the garden with her camera. She went out to photograph the Amistad salvia but got carried away and also pictured agapanthus seeds, dahlias, rudbeckias, roses, clerodendrum trichotomum, begonias, fuchsias, sedum, phlox; and a fly, wasps, and a shield bug perched on ivy flowers. As usual individual titles appear in the gallery which can be enlarged by clicking on any image.
On our afternoon drive we witnessed dramatic skies releasing a number of heavy showers as seen descending from the louring clouds in two of these images and producing at least one rainbow. The last three of these pictures were taken from Beaulieu Road on our way home. The first two from Coombe Lane, Sway where
sunlight picked out the autumn colours in the trees as a lone horse walked down its sloping field.
The first shower sent a group of ponies alongside the Brockenhurst road to shelter as close to the trees as possible.
Pannage pigs munching on sweet chestnuts brought a number of visitors’ cars to a halt in order to disgorge their drivers and passengers to watch and photograph the animals delighting in their change of diet from the more available acorns.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious sausage, liver, and bacon casserole; creamy mashed potato; firm and flavoursome Brussels sprouts; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cotes du Rhone.
The wind kept up this morning, but the rain did not return until this afternoon. The light changed by the minute.
As the sunshine came and went, I had to be patient to take this photograph of the front garden trellis which held solanum, roses, rose hips, petunias, lobelia, nasturtiums, and cotoneaster. Only the clematis and honeysuckle have faded from sight.
We took a trip to Highcliffe beach. A pair of dogs romped along the clifftop,
where the sign warning of crumbling cliffs will probably need to be moved further inland.
When checking on the parking fees, Jackie was greeted by a fairly faint rainbow.
A building worker shared his breakfast with the grateful gulls, and
the rainbow shifted in his direction.
Pools rippled in the car park, against which
the Isle of Wight and The Needles were virtually misted from sight.
One young man stood and watched the
choppy seas
and cloudy skies.
I only needed to turn my head inland to look down on walkers bathed in woodland sunshine;
and twist again for a view of the light on the coastline to my left
and the sight of a dog that probably didn’t belong to the surfboard carrier.
Leaving the scrub behind me,
Down steps
and slopes I descended
to the shore.
On the way down I watched a jogger and dog-walker pass each other.
The woman with the dog went on to cross paths with a couple on a lower level,
and a young lady gradually overhauled another pair, as they passed the Lifeguards’ hut.
Waves sprayed the breakwaters, and, unhindered,
rolled onto the shingle, now at my feet.
Across to my right was a clear view of Mudeford Spit and Sandbank leading to Hengistbury Head. The beach huts visible in this photograph cost as much as £275,000. That’s right. £275,000.
According to metro.co.uk this one went on the market in July this year for £280,000. The article informs us that:
‘For £280,000 you could buy a four-bedroom detached house in Huddersfield or two three-bed cottages with an acre of land in the village of Maerdy, South Wales.
The sandbank can only be accessed by a 20 minute walk, a ride on a novelty land train or by ferry but its isolated position is what gives it its exclusivity and value.
Beach hut owners have to share communal bathroom facilities and can only sleep in the huts between March and October, but can visit any time of year.
Worth a quarter of a million? BNPS
Hut 78 is in a handy location close to the ferry jetty and the communal facilities.
It looks out Christchurch Harbour where the new owners will be able to enjoy stunning sunsets.
The timber home measures 16ft 7in by 10ft 2in and comfortably sleeps four, with a double bed in a mezzanine level.
Solar panels on the roof power the fridge and lights, the cooker runs on bottled gas and there is a water tank that feeds into the kitchen sink.’
As I climbed back up to the car park, another couple of walkers greeted me and continued along their path.
I rejoined Jackie who drove us on to Barton on Sea. From there we were called back home in a hurry. We had been told by our mortgage lender to expect a call this morning from a surveyor coming to value the house. His call would be to arrange a viewing. He did call me. He was outside our house. He had been given a time to be there. We hadn’t.
I guided the gentleman round the house and garden. We then returned to New Milton for some shopping and banking, and brunched at Wendy’s excellent café. Then the rain came.
For dinner this evening Jackie produced a tasty fish pie, mashed potato, carrot and swede mash, and sautéed leeks, peppers, and green beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
Torrential rain and gale-force winds were again the order of the day. Soon after noon, the French windows onto the patio
and the view from the kitchen were like this.
Naturally I took a trip back to my photographic archives from October 2004. The colour slides were primarily the next batch of the Streets of London series.
The 2011 census informs us that there are 175 purpose built flats in Culworth Street NW8 which runs into Prince Albert Road and is therefore a stone’s throw from Regent’s Park. A fair number of them must be in this block.
Lodge Road NW8 lies parallel to St John’s Wood Road which houses Lord’s Cricket ground, the world famous test venue and headquarters of Middlesex County Cricket Club. Across the Lord’s roundabout, stands St John’s Wood Church, of which Wikipedia tells us
‘St John’s Wood Church started life as a chapel of ease to St Marylebone Parish Church, and was constructed in 1814 by Thomas Hardwick, who was simultaneously constructing the current St Marylebone Church.[2] Although the church originally had extensive burial grounds, these were closed in 1855 and opened as a public garden, St. John’s Wood Church Grounds, in 1886.[3] In 1898 the building became a chapel of ease to Christ Church on Cosway Street, and increasingly became the centre of administration for the parish.[4]
After bomb damage during the Second World War rendered St Stephen’s, Avenue Road unusable, St John’s Wood Church became a parish church in its own right in 1952.[5] As well as holding regular services for the community, the church has hosted the wedding of Peggy Cripps to Joe Appiah in June 1953,[6] the blessing of the marriage of Paul and Linda McCartney in 1969,[7] and the funeral of Ursula Vaughan Williams in 2007.[8]
A Church Hall complex was constructed in the 1970s, the completion of which was marked with the erection of a statue of the church’s patron, John the Baptist, by Hans Feibusch.[9] Restoration of the church interior took place in 1991 under the supervision of Michael Reardon, when the chancel pavement was relaid in limestone and the present central altar replaced the high altar at the east end of the church.‘
Canon Reverend Francis Holland, an Anglican clergyman, who was keen to advance and extend the provision of single-sex education for girls established his eponymous Trust in 1881. The Francis Holland school in Ivor Place NW1 is one of two managed by the trust. Ivor Place runs from Park Road to
Boston Place NW1, lying alongside the platforms of Marylebone Station.
From St John’s Wood and Marylebone I walked on to Camden Town through Greenland Road
and Georgiana Street NW1.
These family groups were, on this day, the first of my diversions from the theme of including street names in the images. The bench offers a view of the Little Venice canal basin, on the other side of which stand the erstwhile Council blocks of Warwick Crescent which were largely sold off to tenants in the ’80s and ’90s, and on further to others during the next decades.
Narrow boats travelling along the canal surface at a maximum speed of four miles an hour glide past the park. I forget the name of the man who lovingly tended these gardens for 25 years. Upon his retirement he was replaced by sessional, irregular, maintenance staff seconded from other Council gardens.
The other diversion that attracted my camera lens was a double rainbow over the Paddington Basin development. The wrapping on the buildings in progress reflected the colours of the meteorological phenomenon.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s sumptuous sausage casserole, crunchy carrots, crisp cauliflower, and boiled potatoes. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, and I drank Parra Alta malbec 2016.
CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS GALLERIES THAT CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE. THE INDIVIDUAL PHOTOGRAPH NEEDS JUST A CLICK.
Aaron of A.P. Maintenance has recently completed the last section of fencing, and reorganised the compost bins. Today, he and his nephew Rory took away some of the resultant rubbish. This photograph is one of the few that I was able to take today in sunshine and with a dry camera.
During the rest of the day I was in and out to the garden attempting a few photographs of plants enjoying the sunshine and the showers. Perhaps only the duck and the frog were really in their element. The rain bejewelled primulas, daffodils, camellias, clematis cirrhosa, hellebores, iris, pulmonaria, and faux poppy sat for me quite nicely.
By mid-afternoon I conceded victory to the wind which enforced such rapid changes in the skies that all this last batch of pictures were produced within minutes during which rain fell continuously. Clouds rolled rapidly across the Heavens, sometimes concealing, sometimes revealing the sun
throwing its glowing light on this holly trunk against a sludgy bank of cloud.
This evening we dined on minced beef pie, creamy mashed potato and swede, red cabbage, crunchy carrots, leeks, and onions. I finished the merlot.
It was not long before the first of the day’s many showers set the burnished bracken sparkling.
We were even treated to a partial rainbow forcing its way through the indigo clouds.
Deep in the valley a string of walkers passed a solitary house,
while far off, optimistic smoke curled upwards to merge into the ether.
A grazing pony fixed me with a quizzical stare, then continued with the business in hand,
until, sensing the precipitation that was about to send me back to the car, it wandered off and crossed a path to take shelter under a tree.
It was then that I heard voices floating across the bracken.
They belonged to another group of walkers upon whom the rainbow had cast all the colours of the spectrum.
The rain really hammered on the car as we drove back though the forest passing walkers and cyclists also caught in it.
This evening we dined on roast lamb, potatoes and parsnip; crunchy carrots, cabbage and runner beans; divine gravy, and mint sauce; followed by bread and butter pudding souffle. I drank Almocreve Alentejano reserva 2014.
On yet another rain-slashed August day, I spared a thought for those holidaymakers who had come to the forest and the seaside for their long-awaited summer break. The last ten days hasn’t bothered me, because my chest infection has kept me indoors anyway, but they can’t have had much fun.
Needless to say this was another day for scanning colour slides, this time from Barbados in May 2004. If nothing else they remind me of sunshine. This set of photographs was made a day or two before Sam was expected to reach the island, having rowed The Atlantic solo from the Canaries.
Both Jackie and I think we ought to recognise this plant, but we don’t. Fortunately Mary Tang has identified it as frangipani.
Bougainvillea brightens every landscape.
A golden sunset is almost a cliche. Not in Port St Charles.
Jessica watches as Louisa shows her photographs to another member of the waiting group.
Birds like the Yellow breasted Sunbury,
and the Barbados Bullfinch, the only indigenous species, which is found nowhere else, take advantage of nature’s camouflage,
as does the land crab.
The grackle
and the sanderling don’t seem to need it.
This gentleman demonstrates the method of releasing milk from a coconut.
Just before the expected arrival time even the previously bright blue Caribbean Sea darkened,
and a rainbow arced over Port St Charles.
I was regularly in touch with Radio Nottingham to deliver live updates from my mobile phone. That night, I opened our balcony doors so that listeners could hear the deafening waves crashing in from the Atlantic.
This evening we dined on barbecue pork ribs, savoury rice, and green beans. Jam tart and custard was to follow. Ian drank Heritage de Calvet cotes du Rhone 2014; Becky drank lime cordial; Jackie, sparkling water; and I, another glass of the pinot noir.
