With extensive cloud cover and intermittent rain this morning was considerably warmer than yesterday, but 
far less inviting for my Hordle Cliff top walk. Nevertheless a rainbow did attempt to put in an appearance, as did a watery sun over The Solent, which sent ochre coloured waves crashing against the blending shingle on the beach.
Whoever broke into the garages of the empty Royal Oak pub was bound to have been disappointed, for there was nothing they wanted inside. The deciduous trees on Downton Lane 
have mostly lost their foliage, but the evergreen pines have retained theirs.
In an attempt to cheer up the day an inflated memento from a Macdonald’s Happy Meal bobbed in the stream, and a festive reindeer has arrived in Shorefield Country Park.
The skies had brightened considerably by midday when Aaron Parris of A.P. Maintenance came with a colleague and cleaned out our guttering. I engaged him to complete my work on the back drive, and to level the former kitchen garden.
By 2 p.m. the winter sun was strongly in evidence and the temperature several degrees colder. I took a short stroll down the lane with the object of reprising some of the morning’s shots. These are the results:
By 3 p.m. it wasn’t far off sunset.
Chris Weston, on his training course, described photography as ‘painting with light’. Perhaps these images, all unenhanced, and taken at different times on the same typically English day, illustrate what he meant.
The chauffeur was feeling a little under the weather, so unfortunately we were unable to attend Margery and Paul’s annual Christmas singing party, but trust the usual good time was enjoyed by all.
Since the chef was also feeling a little frail, we dined out at the Rivaaz, where I enjoyed lamb nagin and special fried rice, with a few titbits donated by Jackie from her choice of the buffet meal. We both drank Kingfisher.
Tag: rainbow
The Water Spire
This morning I walked along Hordle Lane, turning left into Stopples Lane. I had hoped to walk across the fields and woods to Peter’s Farm, but could not find my way through. In the spring, I must have traversed a gap in the hedge which is now overgrown. Today, I followed the fenced off wood until I reached the houses, then retraced my steps.
Just before the paddock I heard, then saw, a spire of water, casting a rainbow, shooting straight up into the tree above. Upon investigation, during which I was liberally sprinkled, I noticed that a valve had, perhaps deliberately, become disconnected. 
I knocked at the door of Yeatton Cottage and alerted a resident who undertook to contact the water board. This young woman told me that the large horses did not belong to her and her husband, 
although the field and a Shetland pony did. One of the horses, sheltering under an oak, was well camouflaged.
I twice met a jogger, and gave her a running tip, for which she was grateful.
The verges on both sides of Hordle Lane are littered with debris from food to go. Why, I often wonder, do people come to such a beautiful spot and chuck their rubbish out of their car windows?
Impatiens grew in the wood. Perhaps someone had dumped their garden refuse into this area, with a much more pleasing result. A natural insect hotel created by the section of a dead tree was open for guests.
Soon after this I began the last push in preparing the rose garden. This involved the two of us transplanting a straggly rosemary bush and a cluster of crocosmia. Digging over the soil is likely to take some considerable time. The small area I worked on today, especially that which had been covered by paving for so many years, had the consistency of iron, and contained copious amounts of couch grass and its sinuous trailing roots. I unearthed another slab of concrete and a few more bricks. Just as I was thinking that I would probably find more before the job was done, I discovered another row of the concrete embedded on its side. Having been unable to shift even the first slab, in the absence of my Jack Russell substitute, and as Jackie was calling me in to share a six-egg omelette, stuffed with onions and mushrooms, for a late lunch, I decided to call it a day. She said there was no rush to complete this task which could be done ‘at [my] leisure – if that’s the right word to use’.
This afternoon we were visited by Sam, The Lady Plumber, who came to look at the work needed on our guest bathroom before Louisa, Errol, Jessica, and Imogen come for the weekend. Sam(antha) was friendly, quick, and efficient. Maybe she could have fixed this morning’s valve. She will do our work on Thursday.
This evening I lit and tended a bonfire. Many more will be required before the produce of four months of sawing, pruning and clipping has been burnt.
Jackie’s luscious chicken curry and savoury rice was what we enjoyed for dinner. It was followed by lemon and lime merangue pie and evap in her case, and lemon drizzle cake and custard in mine. I finished the chianti, and she drank some Hoegaarden.
Dear Photographer
Before Jackie drove me to Donna-Marie in Poulner for my very occasional haircut, I walked the Bull Lane/Trusty Servant loop.
A knotted mass of mossy tree roots in the strip of forest alongside Upper Drive always has me wondering whether Celtic designers, all those centuries ago, had gained their inspiration from similar natural phenomena.
At the bottom of Running Hill the narrow road forms a bridge over one of the streams that gives it its name. There is no street lighting in the lanes of Minstead, which is why those of the Trusty Servant Inn are such a welcome sight when coming off the A337 after dark. 
Our neighbour Ari tells us that he strapped reflectors onto the railings of the narrow bridge as a warning to drivers after one steered his vehicle into the metal posts and was killed instantly. It is rather a sad coincidence that there was a fatal accident on the A337 at about the time I walked across the bridge and thought of this public service of Ari’s.
From the hairdresser’s Jackie went on to Sainsbury’s in Ringwood. I walked there after the cut, and arrived just as she was emerging from the shop. On the way back we called in to In-Excess garden centre for birdfood. No doubt because the weather is changing, this establishment was packed and the car park like a fairground dodgems. I went inside alone and left Jackie manouevring. Once having entered the quite extensive parking area it was very difficult to get back out.
I can’t tell you much about ‘Derrick through the ages’ picture number 15a. In Elizabeth’s slide show it doesn’t even warrant its own number, rather like a modern house that’s been built in a piece of garden donated, for a no doubt enormous nominal fee, by the owners of a Victorian mansion next door. Maybe that’s where it was taken. On a late twentieth century balcony. Mind you, the background doesn’t look much like something erected in the nineteenth century. From the look of me, the picture was taken in the early twenty first century. I look pretty relaxed, so it was probably taken by someone I was happy to be with. I sprouted my current beard about three years ago, so it was before then. It’s no good going by the clothes, because I’ve had them all ages. The specs are some kind of clue because it must be seven or eight years since I wore that pair. Elizabeth tells me I removed the print from one of my own albums for inclusion in one she made for Mum’s eightieth birthday. That narrows it down a bit more. It must have been at least eleven years ago. So, dear photographer, if you are reading this, please make yourself known, and fill in the missing details.
I read a little more of Henri Troyat’s novel ‘Grandeur Nature’ which I began a day or two ago.
Whilst eating our dinner of Jackie’s chilli con carne followed by Sainsbury’s treacle sponge pudding, accompanied, in my case only, by Estevez reserva cabernet sauvignon carmenere 2011, we watched the rapidly changing skies without leaving the dining table. 
Clouds ranging from various shades of ochre, to pink, and to indigo moved across clear blue ethereal patches; and the evening sun streamed across the garden picking up the freshly burgeoning leaves on the forest trees. As we watched, we became aware of a shower of rain. ‘There should be a rainbow somewhere’, said Jackie. And, suddenly, transiently, there it was.
The Rainbow
Jackie drove us to Christchurch this morning in time for lunch at Boathouse, a rather good restaurant overlooking the River Avon quay. It was a beautiful day and the drive through the forest was gorgeous. I had a delicious fish pie whilst Jackie ate a pizza fire, which apparently lived up to its name. She then went off to the High Street whilst I sallied forth in search of the river path in the direction of the sea.
According to my lady I needed to turn left along the quay for the sea, or right to travel inland. I chose the sinister route and very soon found myself in the middle of a static caravan site which proved to be a dead end. One of the residents told me I needed to go back along the towpath and cross the bridges. Simple enough. Except I hadn’t come along the towpath in the first place, and wasn’t sure where the bridges were. I found myself walking the Convent Walk along what must be a towpath. 
Glancing up at the Priory church, I saw the glowing colours of the stained glass window of the Lady Chapel benefitting from the westerly sun that streamed in from the side. I came to one bridge and crossed to the other side of the road. My first attempt at continuing led me to what seemed to be conference centre. I passed a deep window in which I large group of young women were feasting. I caused them great hilarity, realised my error, and backtracked.
Another woman told me that to regain the river bank I needed to walk up to and along the High Street, and cross a dual carriage way where I would find the next bridge. This was one of those moments on my travels when I berate myself for not having brought a map. Nevertheless the element of uncertainty I gain this way is all part of the fun. Since I was in need of relief there was the bonus of the public lavatories in the main shopping centre. The wall of my cubicle bore the graffiti legend DEFEND ATLANTIS.
At the end of the High Street I used an underpass across a dual carriageway. It bore a helpful sign indicating Avon Valley Path. I followed it. And found myself in Waitrose Car Park. There a young man struggling to lead a string of supermarket trolleys to their stable was blown across my path. He wondered if I had come in search of a trolley. When I told him what I was searching for he confirmed that I should walk up to the motorway where I would find my path.
Now, I should have guessed that the river which had burst its banks at Ringwood would have done the same here. If my path existed it was under several feet of the water which stretched as far as I could see. Seagulls swam around the bases of telegraph poles, electricity pylons and trees. What had been fields were now their landing strips. It was then that I began to wonder whether the Avon had its own submerged Atlantis. When I reached Stoney Lane railway bridge I decided it was time to turn back.
As it began to rain I entered The Priory Church. This splendid building, begun in the 11th Century, is both sturdy and elegant. There is a splendid marble Pieta carving as a monument to the poet Shelley, and much more of interest which will repay a further visit. It was in examining the stained glass from the inside that I was able to identify the windows I had photographed earlier. The building is more like a grand cathedral than a local parish church.
When I emerged into the light it was to a clear bright low sun and sparkling rain. I walked into the shower’s needle sharp shafts as I turned right along the quay. The arc which soon appeared in the sky provided evidence that conditions were perfect for a rainbow. I sped along the strand seeking a standpoint from which I would be able to photograph the whole semicircle of the most complete rainbow I have ever seen. 
I may have had better luck on the other side of the river. As I returned to the Priory car park where I was to meet Jackie, I witnessed a squabble of seagulls at the water’s edge screeching, flapping their wings, and stretching wide their beaks at each other. The origin of their collective noun became very clear.
Incidentally, ‘The Rainbow’ is the title of the D.H.Lawrence novel I have most enjoyed.
We had a light salad, followed by apple crumble leftovers enhanced with tinned madarin oranges, for our evening meal. Our wine was a most potable Breganze reserve Pinot Grigio 2011, ticket number 510 in last Saturday’s Merton Mind Christmas Fayre tombola.