raindrops – Page 10 – derrickjknight

A Game Of Cards

This morning, Ronan, of Tom Sutton Heating, serviced our boiler. It was in good working order.

It was another rainy day, with the occasional spell of sunshine, yet brightening up in the afternoon, enough for Jackie to indulge in more planting. I wondered how long this large pendulous drop would take to slip down to the next camellia leaf, and so on to the soil below.

I made a couple of A4 prints of the two young ladies carrying the Landscape Bark on 8th, and presented one of them with the pictures when we visited Mole Country Supplies for three more bags. This time a pair of young gentlemen loaded our car. Jackie observed that I ‘didn’t whip out [my] camera and take a photograph’. ‘Well’, said I, ‘they were not ……’ ‘female’ interjected my Driver. I completed my sentence with ‘….. quite so photogenic’.

When I wrote about Robyn Ghyll on 26th March 2013, I did not have access to the colour slides taken on that holiday in August 1979. I scanned them today. Brief details of the stay can be found by following the link.

Here Matthew leans on the dry stone garden wall of the Trevelyan holiday home,

in which Jessica conducts a card game requiring great concentration from Cherie and Maxine, but receiving very little from Vital who obscures cousin Jackie.

Jessica, Becky, and Michael’s dog, Piper, enjoyed splashing about in a freezing tarn. I am not sure how the floral hairpiece remained in place.

Jessica must have dried off for this portrait.

To call the meal Jackie served up this evening ‘Cauliflower Cheese’ is misleading. What it consisted of was cauliflower in a cheese mustard sauce including sauteed leeks and tomatoes, garnished with lean bacon rashers. With this delightfully tangy meal, I drank Piccini Memoro red wine.

The Infant Crocodile

Jackie drove me to and from New Milton today, for me to take an uneventful journey to Waterloo and back, to lunch with Norman at Tas in The Cut.

Fresh pansies in the station platform planter bore remnants of last night’s rain.

I approached The Cut by walking across Waterloo Road and down Alaska Street to Cornwall Road where I turned right. The gentleman using his mobile phone was quite happy to appear in shot.

Further along Cornwall Road a multi-ethnic infant crocodile was led under a railway arch,

beneath which a pair of gentlemen in hard hats subsequently made their way, as the children filed through yellow cased scaffolding supports further up Cornwall Road.

The bright red buses in their station, like Shakespeare’s players, have their exits and their entrances.

A uniformed conversation took place in The Cut,

where the Young Vic restaurant encouraged alfresco custom,

and Bill Stickers changed the posters advertising the new programme.

Norman and I both chose tender lamb casserole followed by perfect baklava for our meal, and shared a very good bottle of the Anatolian house red wine.

My return to the terminal railway station was taken along Waterloo Road where the foundations of the building alongside the old fire station appear to have been completed.

Orange Symphony

Kimber’s carpet fitters made an excellent job this morning of installing our new stairs and landing carpet.

Much of the day was spent exchanging e-mails with partners in two different joint projects. One thread was with Paul, who is finalising the flyer for the exhibition at The First Gallery.

Here are a few further suggestions of prints on to be on show. Just for fun I have chosen an orange theme.

This was the gentle overture to 6th April 2015.

This bee burrowed into a crumpled poppy on 23rd September the same year,

and the following day Mamma Mia became bejewelled.

Could this be the same bee on the kniphofia on 28th?

The second exchange of e-mails must remain secret at the moment. It concerns my draft of a post brought about by collaboration with a man I have never met. I await his approval of the text.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s perky paprika pork and exquisite egg fried rice. She drank water and I finished the merlot.

A Silver Lining

This morning Aaron started work on preparing the stairs and landing for redecoration.

Later, Jackie drove Becky, Ian and me to Molly’s Den.

Becky, who has been undertaking extensive and detailed market research since applying for places for a father and daughter team on ‘Bargain Hunt’, the TV antiques competition programme, had not yet visited our local emporium. We came to see this trip as a training exercise. Contestants have one hour in which to make three purchases which are then sold at auction.

We have experienced enough rain in the last 72 hours to make parts of the Christchurch/Lymington Road resemble a lake. Molly’s Den suffered considerable leakage through the vast warehouse roof. The staff had spent two and a half hours mopping up the water.

Most of the items for sale had been rescued, although the odd raindrops lingered.

We managed to cover all areas in our allotted hour, but did not make the required number of purchases. I bought Jackie an owl, and Ian bought Becky a brooch.

The presentations took place in Molly’s Pantry. When the two ladies received their brunches before Ian and me, they resolved my dilemma about being unable to photograph all the meals together by hamming up repetitions of their earlier delight.

Ian and I struggled through the plentiful all day brunches of excellent quality. The chef came to our table and apologised that he had run out of vine tomatoes. He needn’t have worried. The first-rate standard of the sausages, bacon, black pudding, baked beans, mushrooms, wedges of buttered toast, and perfectly fried eggs more than made up for it.

Jackie bought another two owls.

On our drive home we were reminded that every cloud has a silver lining. The rain had desisted and the sky was turning blue.

Close perusal of the pictures of Molly’s Pantry fare will render it unsurprising that neither Ian nor I required an evening meal, and a few samosas sufficed for the women.

A Bead Curtain

Mike of ‘Perfect Plastering’, lived up to his company name as he completed the fitting of our new bath and tiling today. He has done an excellent job.

Jackie spent much of the day on one of her sororal lunches, whilst I had a brief visit from our friend Alison.

‘Walking In The Sea’, is, in my view, B. J. Haynes’s best novel to date. I was unable to put down my copy, and read this little book in two sittings. One reason, undoubtedly, was because it is quite short. The most compelling one, however, is that I wanted the mystery to unravel. I won’t spoil the story with details, but will simply say that the clear, spare, prose races along; that the dialogue is convincing; and that Barrie’s quirky humour strikes just the right balance.

The cover design is by the author’s granddaughter, Amber Cooke.

When I attempted to put this review on Amazon Books UK, I was prevented from doing so without buying a copy. Barrie’s generosity is such that I don’t need to purchase one. So here is what I would have posted on there.

Not to be outdone by those on yesterday’s Japanese maple, the raindrops sliding down the slender, pendulous, threads of our weeping birch have provided a bead curtain separating that tree’s bed from the South End of the garden.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s perky paprika pork and special fried rice.

The Monet Arch

Oscar, that fine blogging poet of In So Many Words, recently expressed wonderment that I got any work done with all the photography I did in the garden. I wonder, did he know that the camera is a preferred delaying tactic; and that a new rose arch has stood in the hall porch for the last three days, awaiting assembly?

The arch leading into the front garden was such a ramshackle structure that it was being held together by the roses, honeysuckle, and clematis it was meant to support. I therefore ordered a replacement from Agriframes. Today we decided to substitute the new metal Monet Arch for the existing rickety woodwork.

Anyone who remembers our last struggle with an Agriframes Arch may well understand our reluctance to begin this project, and Oscar, in particular, will understand my need ramble round the garden first.

The overnight rain had once again left sparkling gems on the flowers:

on geraniums;

on begonias;

on trailing antirrhinums, less their tails battered by the winds;

on Margery’s long- lived hollyhocks;

on a giant fuchsia Pink Marshmallow;

and on the rose Mamma Mia, to name a few.

The ripening apples on the tree also benefited from a wash.

The two beds Jackie has planted up in the last week welcomed the nurturing rainfall. These are

the former site of the ficus,

and the triangular bed linking the Pergola and Brick Paths.

Having removed some overgrown shrubs from the latter opens up the view through to the Agriframes Gothic Arch.

At every corner the sun lit hosts of grateful blooms like these Japanese anemones.

That little wander was just one of the ways we managed to defer tackling the arch until after lunch. Spelling mistakes in the instructions didn’t inspire me with confidence; neither did the fact that the suppliers had equated 1.2 meters with 4 feet.

This was the paperwork.

Before anything else, we decided to take step 2. It seemed rather important to make sure we could fit the four posts into gravelly soil with concrete and stone embellishments. This meant heavily pruning the plants in situ, then piercing four holes in the right places. Every time I extracted the hole maker, bits of gravel fell back into it. That was rather frustrating. Next came step 1. We then applied the top section to the four posts of step 2, to check we had them properly aligned. After a bit of tweaking we found we had.

Step 1 was then removed so we could build step 3, and apply it as in step 4. Eventually, that worked. This meant we were ready to put step 1 in place.

I trust that is all very clear. The next time we need an arch it will come ready-assembled from an architectural salvage outlet such as Ace Reclaim.

Did I mention that it rained during this procedure? No? Well, it did.

This evening we dined with Giles and Jean at her home in Barton on Sea. Jean produced an excellent meal of Sea Bass, new potatoes, broccoli, and mushrooms; followed by a succulent autumn pudding, being a seasonal variant on my favourite summer pudding. I drank a rather good mourvedre, while Jackie drank Peroni. Naturally we had our usual stimulating conversation.

Officially Autumn

Although she does tidy up much of her refuse, when the Head Gardener has been about with the loppers and secateurs, it falls upon me, the Under Under Gardener, to clear the heaps of clippings; to transfer them to the compost and wood-burning piles; to sort them; and to cut them into manageable sections. This I did this morning after Jackie had driven off for one of her sorority lunches with Helen and Shelly.

Judging by the scent pervading this pile, the marauding cat that we hope keeps the rodents down, had liberally sprayed it with a peculiar pungency.

The rambling rose, Wedding Day, having outgrown the Agriframes arch and dared to festoon the two Japanese maples and frolic over a hebe, was given a particularly severe haircut. I console myself in the knowledge that, like mine, it will grow again.

This is all part of the autumn clear-up. It is, after all, the first official day of autumn. We are, nevertheless, still treated to the sights of summer, like

bees burrowing into crinkly poppies;

Small White butterflies fluttering everywhere and perching on verbena bonarensis;

petunias, pink striped dahlias, and geraniums;

and raindrops on sweet peas.

The rose garden is flourishing. We have left two peep-holes in the fence so our neighbours can enjoy it too.

Carpet roses, like the white Kent, are spreading nicely.

We have red hot pokers everywhere. Either they are proliferating at will, or there was too much undergrowth last year for us to notice. These are surveyed by the owl at home in the dead Snake Bark maple.

We moved the furniture and potted plants from the decking for Aaron to refurbish it. This colourful table top had held a floral display.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s lively chilli con carne and tasty mixed vegetable rice. I finished the malbec, and The Cook drank Hoegaarden.

After The Rain 1

SPOILER ALERT! Don’t read to the end if you are watching the rugby recorded.

This morning Jackie weeded and planted chrysanthemums in the front garden, whilst I dug out the remaining roots of the ficus in preparation for planting the pansies.

In the event, a heavy thunderstorm ruled out putting the pansies to bed. They were therefore plonked in their trays. Even though the rain ceased, enabling us to finalise the preparation and wander round the garden, the soil was far too muddy.

The sun emerged for a while. The rain ceased, but continued to drip from the trees and the shrubbery. Battered blooms bore watery blisters.

These included geraniums;

Ginger lilies;

roses unknown,

Altissimo,

and the leaves of Deep Secret;

dahlia Bishop of Llandaff;

sweet peas;

and verbena to name a few.

Echinaceas and chrysanthemums, and others in Elizabeth’s Bed have been well watered.

Here are views down the Dead End Path;

across the New Bed to the Brick Path;

and across the Heligan Path.

Our dinner this evening, consisting of Jackie’s superb chicken jalfrezi and pilau rice, was taken on trays on our knees, as we watched the opening match in the rugby World Cup, in which England beat Fiji by 35 points to 11. I drank more of the malbec while Jackie drank Hoegaarden. I didn’t spill too much curry down my sweatshirt.

Park Life Part 2

On the decking an unusual new pair of pigeons glistened in this morning’s drizzle,

which bejewelled ornamental grasses alongside the Phantom Path.

Heavier rain had spattered rose Just Joey with up-tossed soil.

Tom Jones’s parents had featured in the last of yesterday’s scans of Park Life prints from 20th July 1996. Now a teacher himself, he co-starred in the next scene:

Even lollies didn’t detract from audience rapture,

although Jessica, in the centre background, had spotted something to divert her attention,

which she then conveyed to Jane Keeler.

Care was on hand to administer a puffer to a young lady who had perhaps become overexcited.

Barry, of New Forest Chimney Sweep and Repairs, visited on time, to sweep the chimney and check on its condition. It will come as no surprise to anyone who has read about the general maintenance of Old Post House under the previous ownership, that the sweep extracted 65 litres of soot, and pronounced a relining, although not essential, to be advisable. He would be unable to do that until the Spring. He left our sitting room spotless.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic chicken jalfrezi, pilau rice, and vegetable samosas, followed by mango Soleros. I drank Kumala reserve shiraz 2013. Jackie and Ian chose Kingfisher, and Becky a Grenache rose 2014.

The Caribbean Sea

Today was another rainswept blustery day, so I returned to my photographic archives and scanned a dozen slides from May 2004. This was the month in which Sam completed his Atlantic Row, which I have featured from time to time. During the few days waiting for him to arrive in Port St Charles, Barbados, and afterwards, I took the opportunity to roam the Island with my camera. There are many more in this set.

Jessica, Louisa, and I began our stay in an hotel some miles from the finishing point, but soon transferred to join Chris, Frances, and Fiona in one in the luxurious developing holiday playground.

This area presented a stark contrast to how the rest of the inhabitants of Barbados lived. Our hotel was surrounded by a compound patrolled by armed guards to keep out people like a coconut seller seated on the wall outside. His produce looked unappetising and he charged fairly optimistic prices.

Some distance away, a young woman, seated on a rugged outcrop gazing out to sea, was persuaded to rise to her feet.

Port St Charles (Speightstown on the map) lies on the Caribbean Sea to the north west of the Island. To the east storms the Atlantic ocean. The two bodies of water meet at the northern tip of the Island. Rowers need to navigate this point with precision. Too wide and the current would would carry them to Cuba, too near and they would be smashed on these rocks. The competitors rowed in pairs or solo. One of the pairs hit the rocks, and had to be rescued.

These seascapes are of the more gentle Caribbean.

Much less inviting was the dark, violent, Atlantic that, on the last couple of days, swept my son so fast towards his final destination that he dropped his anchor to slow himself down in order to arrive in daylight. Not for him, Cuba or the rocks.

Late this afternoon the rain desisted and the sun put in a brief appearance.

The red hot pokers were not extinguished,

and raindrops glistened on day lilies,

dahlias,

the clematis Duchess of Albany,

Priscilla, the gladiolus,

the Absolutely Fabulous rose,

and any others you care to imagine.

This evening we dined on a rack of pork ribs in barbecue sauce, and Jackie’s chicken in black bean sauce, stir fry vegetable noodles, and rice noodles, followed by rice pudding. I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon, and Jackie abstained.