Ramblings
Hanging its head, the garden wept early this morning;
to brighten later;
albeit with less than entirely dry cheeks. Bees basked on sunlit blooms;
as did butterflies like this Red Admiral on the lobelia.
Jackie’s planting
of phlox in the West Bed
brought her little robin, Nugget, out in search of goodies. “Where’s Nugget?” (6)
Here we lost internet connection, so I am sending this from The Royal Oak.
This was a day of wind, rain, colder temperatures, coats, and central heating. A bit like Dunedin’s winter.
During a brief period of lessening rain Jackie continued her work on securing sweet peas and other climbing plants; rehanging baskets; and setting other planters back on their perches.
Here are some of the finished projects. The begonias in the penultimate image lost a few broken stems from which Jackie is attempting to produce roots. She is doing the same with a proliferation of pelargoniums.
These ginger lilies happily survived.
Most flowers were bejewelled with raindrops.
This was not a day for little birds to come out and play.
We dined this evening on a second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away’ excellent fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Shiraz.
During a suitable break in the showers this morning I focussed on the refreshed flora in somewhat bedraggled bees in the garden.
Examples are antirrhinums and foxgloves;
Several bees, in their waterproofs, can be seen among these roses, petunias, geraniums, rhododendrons, poppies, and bottle brush plants.
Danni and Ella came to lunch bearing a packet of gloriosa vine corms for Jackie’s birthday. Naturally the Head Gardener planted them immediately.
During the pleasant afternoon that ensued, Danni reflected on Jackie photographing Derrick and Ella.
Later our great-niece slept on the sofa and was photographed by her mother.
Through the window above Ella’s head another proud parent, in the form of a cock sparrow, could be seen, head rapidly swivelling, guarding his nest by the side of the house,
This evening we dined on Jackie’s super spicy pasta arrabbiata and tender runner beans with which she drank Blue Moon and I drank Chateau des Maures Lalande de Pomerol 2016.
It was a shame that we were only due sunshine and lack of rain this morning, because I needed to be at home for the Openreach engineer engaged by BT. I won’t dwell on this, but, although the man turned up on time the problem is not resolved. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been told what Friday’s engineer had done and that he had been sent for an installation rather than a repair. Another technician is to attend tomorrow.
I did manage to wander round the garden before heavy rain set in for the afternoon.
We have numerous hellebores;
a prolific variety of camellias;
iris reticulatas;
and snowdrops coming into bloom throughout.
One of the occupants of the Dragon Bed cradles her egg;
another has recovered well after Aaron’s spinal surgery.
After lunch, with raindrops splattering on the roof of the car and slaloming down the windscreen, we took a drive into the forest.
The watery Black Lane, in the murk, lived up to its name.
Many of our roads are now irrigated by overflowing ditches and waterlogged fields.
Braggers Lane, with its
rippling reflective bubbling pools stretching alongside, is a good example.
Despite the banked verges, the fields are very generous with their excess water.
Woodland is a little meaner.
A group of horses, some wearing waterproof rugs, simply tolerated the downfall.
Further along, on Thatchers Lane, fallen. lichen-coated branches, recently at home on dry land, are reflected in their own pools. Drinks cans now bob beside them.
Long haired goats foraged in the grass alongside Fish Street. One inquisitive creature raised its head briefly before getting on with its late lunch.
Sheep sheltering on London Lane wondered why I was standing there getting wet.
At Avon thatchers seemed to have called it a day. It seemed a good idea, so we set off for home.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s nicely matured sausage casserole; crisp roast potatoes; firm Brussels sprouts; and tricolour carrots with which I finished the Malbec.
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Forlorn pasty-faced skies wept for most of the day. After an early lunch Jackie and I drove to Southampton General Hospital to visit Mum. The good news is that she was looking much better and is to move tomorrow to a Rehabilitation Centre at Romsey. We will see what they can do to get her on her feet again. She has already been transferred to a less intense ward ‘for older people’. Joseph and Angela were with our mother when we arrived. They left soon afterwards, but I don’t think it was any thing personal.
Avoiding Millbrook roundabout which we knew to be closed from our direction, Jackie managed to negotiate the terrible Hampshire roads to bring us to the barrier of the one car park in the hospital that had some spaces. Peering through the rainswept windscreen we waited our turn for the barrier to rise for our admittance.
Having driven around for a while inside in search of one of the vacancies, we waded over the uneven paving that is de rigueur for any modern public development. We were directed to Mum’s new ward, which was helpful.
When paying for parking on departure, we considered that one out of three properly working machines was perhaps fortunate.
People, such as taxi drivers, not wishing to park, but delivering patients as near as possible to the front door, do rather tend to cause something of a blockage in visitors’ escape route.
In the direction of our return home, the Millbrook Roundabout was actually open, but we were advised to expect delays. Listening to the thud/squeak rhythm of the windscreen wipers; avoiding being mesmerised by the brake lights we were following; ignoring the temptations of fish and chips; and finding some amusement in ‘Elves Behavin (sic) Badly’ we settled down for the long haul along the A33. In one of those brilliant planning touches we find on Hampshire’s roads more roadworks came into focus further along the way. We were now reduced to one lane, the queue being supplemented by vehicles filtering in from the left.
Jackie took the first opportunity to strike out across the forest by turning into Deerleap Lane. Within very few minutes we were once again breathing fresh air on familiar winding lanes where the only road rage experienced was the alarm sounded by what must surely have been Roman geese guarding a soggy farmyard.
It being our first second wedding anniversary we dined at Fleur de Lys in Pilley. We both enjoyed truffles and celeriac soup with scrumptious fresh crispy bread. Jackie went on to mushroom risotto, while I enjoyed a succulent steak, French fries, and green beans. Mrs Knight drank Blue Moon and I drank an excellent Merlot.
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On a day balmy enough for pink roses, honeysuckle, and solanum to be blooming on the trellis in the front garden, and whatever this flower is in the West Bed (see rusty duck’s identification below),
it seemed rather incongruous to take a trip to MacPenny’s Nursery in Bransgore in search of Autumn colour, but we were not disappointed. The bush rose bringing up the rear of this set of photographs sits in the small garden of Robin’s Nest, the nursery’s cafe, where Jackie enjoyed a scone and a coffee while I went for a wobble in the main garden. I think it rather unkind of her to describe my current gait as such.
There is still a month of the pannage period to go. A motley collection of piglets snuffled their way around the verges of Burley in their frantic search for acorns. One actually sneezed. It wasn’t the black one going for a paddle.
This evening, together with Bill, Jackie and I are dining at Shelly and Ron’s. Should there be anything of moment to report I will do so tomorrow.
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I took a couple of strolls around the garden with a camera this morning. Sculpture Florence turned her back on the early light streaming from the Rose Garden.
Overnight rain had refreshed fuchsias, geraniums, hydrangeas, and dahlias, in one of which
a bedraggled bee risked drowning.
Our red hot pokers are over now, but other kniphofias of more autumnal hues stand erect in the Weeping Birch and other beds.
White solanum continues to drape itself over the dead tree beside the New Bed.
Spiders lurk everywhere. Look closely at the close-up of the hanging basket at the corner of the Phantom Path.
This afternoon Jackie drove me into the forest.
Along the Rhinefield Road a rather young foal foraged far from his parent who looked to be away in the distance.
A little further along a forest sprite impersonated the upper section of a dead tree escaping the clutches of its parent body.
Along the Rhinefield Ornamental Drive dry layers of fallen leaves and pine cones offered a spring to my step and to those of a lone walker. A carved cone marked a route.
Passing the trough on Wootton Common we noticed that it was surrounded by cattle vying for a drink. By the time we had turned round to park the car near the animals, they were all trooping off along the moor.
Ah, not quite all. Just one diminutive creature had been left behind. In vain did this Marshmallow cow, time and again, circle the trough attempting to slake her thirst. Even her neck was just too short. Eventually she hit on a super wheeze. She tried the human spout. I wonder if the next two-legged drinkers will have any idea about who had preceded them.
This evening the three of dined on Jackie’s roast beef; Yorkshire pudding; pigs in blankets; roast potatoes, sweet and normal; crunchy carrots, tender runner beans; and gravy solid with onions and mushrooms. Elizabeth and I drank La vieille ferme 2017, while the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden.
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A week ago we had celebrated Shelly’s birthday at a party in her garden sheltering under a marquee from the sun. Today it was the turn of Ron’s 70th.
This time raindrops dripped from that same tent. The 70 bunting, blown by the wind, stuck, upside down, to the awning.
Of the guests, numbering some forty people, only the hardened drinkers availed themselves of the somewhat soggy outside protection.
It was definitely a day for umbrellas.
Most of the guests gathered inside.
Some, who knew each other, were pleasantly surprised at each other’s presence.
Last week’s event had been mostly for family members. This one was largely attended by friends, but grandparents, like Helen putting on Billy’s shoes
or simply revelling in Max, were welcome.
Great aunts, Shelly
and Jackie also made much of Max,
who maintained a firm grip on Jackie’s pearls;
while his brother Billy wheeled his cars across the table.
Stephanie did manage to have a go with her younger son when the older generation allowed it.
Ron had thoughtfully provided a quiz spanning the seventy years of his life ‘in case no-one turned up’. He needn’t have worried about that. Bill
and other guests got stuck into this with bemused enthusiasm.
Donna was perhaps exempt from this game because her partner, Neil, was involved in the marking.
None was more surprised than Jackie and me when we won the competition, possibly because Becky and Ian had arrived after the judging had begun. Our daughter had completed the test on her own and in a hurry, yet scored only one point less than us.
Jackie’s chicken jalfrezi with sag or peas ponir and savoury rice was a great success. All was eaten in a very short space of time except for one helping saved by a guest who wished to wait until he had room for it.
LordBeariofBow’s comment below provides this most appropriate addition: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jg2vtWezWbw Thanks, Brian.
Shelly’s fish pie and lasagne were also excellent, as were trifle and cakes produced by Jackie’s two sisters. Red and white wine and various beers were imbibed.
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When I am under the weather it is always a bad headache that does me in. So it was yesterday, but, I am happy to say, this had desisted after a good night’s sleep and, although I remained a bit dizzy I enjoyed wandering around the garden this morning with a camera. I think I understand the expression ‘under the weather’ because I do seem to have headaches when there is that change in pressure that comes with impending storms. And yesterday it rained steadily all afternoon.
This made for plants adorned with translucent pearly precipitations. Geraniums were well represented;
leaves, such as those of gladioli
and poppies, bore crystal balls;
black eyed Susan sparkled;
blushing begonias shimmered in shadows;
strange creatures, food dangling from their maws, lurked behind day lilies;
hydrangeas;
hostas;
roses Lady Emma Hamilton,
and Special Anniversary were all bejewelled.
Bees, like this one in the Peach Abundance rose, were venturing out again.
This afternoon I watched the Wimbledon men’s quarter finals of tennis on TV.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s wonderful boeuf bourguignon, followed by vanilla ice-cream.
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Jackie carried out much knowledgeable weeding and planting this morning, whilst I cleared up the discards and conveyed them to the compost pile.
The early sun lit libertias standing in the Weeping Birch Bed,
and enlivened the burgeoning Rose Garden.
Various clematises,
including this wonderfully scented Montana festooned over the front wall;
the weigela winding down the south fence;
ubiquitous aquilegias;
the pink rambler on the front garden trellis;
borders everywhere, like this corner sporting campanulas, libertia, and geraniums Ingwersen’s Variety,
and the long Back Drive hosting splendid golden irises, relished their welcome refreshment.
A fly alighted on one of the front tub’s primroses.
This afternoon I added a little more to my biography of an era including me. I now have a working title: ‘A Knight’s Tale’. I took more text, and
this photograph from ‘A Sneaky Weekend’
I then made some prints from recent posts for Louisa.
After this I joined Jackie in the weeding, concentrating my efforts on uprooting the more obvious infiltrators, namely the smelly white alliums, clinging ladies’ bedstraw, and golden buttercups occupying the wrong beds.
This evening, there being no table available at the Crown in Everton, we dined at the Smugglers’ Inn at Milford on Sea. Having starters was a mistake. The platefuls were excellent. Mine contained battered whitebait, plentiful fresh salad, and thick wedges of equally fresh bread. Jackie received a huge plateful of bread and olives. Each serving was a meal in itself. An even bigger mistake was, in my case, ordering succulent sirloin steak, still more fresh salad, a mountain of perfect chips, onion rings, and fried onions, mushrooms and tomatoes. Jackie was treated to a huge bowl of cannelloni. more salad, and an equal number of chips to mine. Neither of us could finish our food, and we did not require a look at the dessert menu. The food was, I hasten to add, all extremely good, and the service impeccable. We both reminisced that, in our prime, we would have managed all this. Jackie drank Amstel, and I drank Doom Bar..