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Storm Doris had blown about the bag of twigs gathered up a couple of days ago, and dumped more on the beds and paths in the garden.
The Shady Path, with its Camellia shrubs didn’t look too bad, except for the chair blown over on the decking.
We picked up a few more bits of tree and went for a drive in the forest.
Beautifully situated among daffodils on the village green at Portmore is another Telephone Box book exchange.
I exchanged greetings with a friendly jogger running along the verge of the road between Beaulieu and Dibden Purlieu,
as I was walking back a short way into the forest, to the opposite side of the road, where numerous temporary pools reflected the trees they surrounded.
Friars Cliff Café was full to bursting as children, taking advantage of half-term in Hampshire’s schools, had fun on the beach before taking refreshments. We enjoyed a brunch there.
This evening I made prints of Sam and Louisa in the skip from Ratty, the post of two days ago; and two little girls doing handstands and running on the sand. Louisa’s picture was by request. The others were for the mother of the other children who preferred not to have the pictures posted here.
Later we dined on pizza and salad with which I finished the merlot opened three days ago.
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We spent the morning driving around the forest before lunching at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms.
The strong early morning sun forced its way through the rising mist, and eventually dominated the blue skies, warming
the landscape,
and eventually lighting the lichen-covered oaks,
some of which were reflected in the myriad of pools like these on the way to Burley.
Crossing the road I arrived at another small lake that turned out to be part of a golf course.
As I contemplated the green further up the hill, I imaged what it would be like to hit your ball into the water.
Preceded by their voices a group of golfers dragged their bags into view. I passed on my thoughts, and the gentleman facing me in the second picture, informed me, with a wry smile, that they didn’t need to imagine it.
There are many fords on the forest roads, with bridges for pedestrians wishing to cross swollen streams. This crossing near Burley was dry,
and clear water flowed fast beneath it.
On this fine spring Saturday there was much traffic on the road. This did not deter somnolent ponies who ignored cars slaloming around them and cyclists whizzing through the central gap.
A domestic horse tore nonchalantly at the beech hedge beside its wire fencing.
At Brockenhurst a working Telephone box was reflected in a seasonal pool.
The structure had clearly been left exposed to the elements without protective paint for a number of years. A pile of rubbish carpeted the floor, and it was necessary to negotiate a discarded poop scoop bag to reach the peeling door.
Perhaps it would have been an idea to offer the management to local residents as in the case of this one at Wootton. This is also reflected, but it would be more savoury to make one’s way through mud and pony droppings than the obstacle mentioned above.
There were many golfers playing on various courses on this beautiful morning.
Also engaged in forest pursuits were dog walkers like this couple drying their dog after a romp amongst the dewy bracken.
Cyclists abounded. Take note of the two heads ascending the hill behind those in the first picture.
Many horse riders were seen on the country roads and across the moors.
Joggers exercised alone,
or in couples. Do you recognise the two heads seen on the road to Burley? Here they are somewhat later.
For lunch at Holmsley Jackie chose her favourite macaroni cheese. My meal was an excellent fish pie served with carrots, peas, and greens.
This evening the Culinary Queen produced a thick mushroom and cheese omelette for our dinner.
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Over coffee this morning, we had reason to try to remember the name of a cafe in Milford on Sea. We now have two reference points for such information. Jackie favours the Google walk; my preference is this blog. This morning we had a race to find it. I won. It was Polly’s Pantry.
At Wilverley, on our way through the forest today, regular ditch maintenance was under way.
The forest pools and their reflections basked in sunshine,
as did ponies amid the bracken. These somnolent creatures perked up to pose for their pictures.
As we ascended the hill up to Nomansland, a lethargic pony occupied the middle of the road.
It took its own leisurely time in crossing to the other side.
The countryside is littered with obsolete, often derelict, iconic red telephone boxes. Apparently, when BT wish to decommission a phone box they must obtain a “No Objection” statement from the local District Council. According to Milford on Sea ‘Village Voice’ magazine for February/March 2017, one has been obtained for the structure on the Village Green. The periodical’s article says that “The Parish Council has applied to BT to adopt the box and is waiting to hear if this has been successful. The box could then be hired by local groups for displays, exhibitions, pop-up shops and other ventures on a monthly basis. If you have an idea about how best the kiosk can be utilised, let the Parish Council know!”.
Today we visited some of those within our vicinity.
At Pennington, one has been adapted as a cash machine. The telephone on one side of the box doesn’t work.
Book exchanges are popular. We spotted these at Fritham,
at Bramshaw,
and at Minstead Newtown.
That opposite ‘The Trusty Servant’ in Minstead itself has simply been disconnected.
Perhaps the most innovative conversion is the defibrillator at Nomansland.
On our way home we indulged ourselves in a late lunch at Holmesley Old station tea rooms, and very good it was too. My choice was steak and mushroom pie with tasty gravy, perfectly cooked carrots, cabbage, chips and peas. Jackie’s was a whopping jacket potato containing cheese and coleslaw served with plentiful salad. She drank coffee and I drank sparkling water. Later sustenance this evening was surplus to requirements.
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This morning we went on a drive about the forest in order to try out the lens bag featured yesterday.
Does are normally so timid that they bound, bouncing, away before we have even seen them. The curiosity of this little harem among the trees got the better of them. Some turned their pretty rears, others presented a staring face. Others, with elegant flexibility, did both. When they all looked in the same direction they seemed to emulate meerkats.
The forest terrain is becoming decidedly waterlogged. Trees and sky are reflected in clear pools lying among last autumn’s fallen foliage. When the land is very wet the shallower-rooted trees tend to tip over and lie across land and water. We wonder how anyone can visit such a beautiful spot and lob a Lucosade bottle into it.
A herd of cattle have claimed the crossroads at East Boldre as their own. Wandering into the road at will, or, chewing the cud, resting their mud-caked legs, their knees are decorated with hay and grass.
The green frontage to this group of houses in East End has become a mirror to them and to ponies who still attempt to keep the grass down.
I am happy to be able to report that Jackie’s creation has made it possible for me to switch lenses and cameras with unaccustomed ease. It is definitely the business.
I spent several hours this afternoon completing a detailed timeline on the issue of my mother’s bathroom. This is the attachment that will go with the letter Elizabeth and I worked on yesterday. I then e-mailed it to my sister. I find it easier to write a blog.
After this I thoroughly enjoyed Jackie’s superb chicken jalfrezi, savoury rice, sag paneer, and paratha, with which I finished the bordeaux.
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Jackie drove me to and from New Milton today for me to catch the London train and lunch with Norman at La Barca in Lower Marsh.
On this very cold morning the waiting room was full. Three young women were engaged in an animated conversation available for all to hear. Suddenly they quietened, their eyes span backwards and forwards in their sockets, looking around the room, their voices barely a whisper. The whole room hushed. Silence reigned. I leaned across and, hand over mouth, sotto voce, breathed: “We’re all trying to hear”. Great hilarity all round ensued.
Underneath the arches by the bus stops beside Waterloo Station, someone’s home was piled up. It is not unusual to see sleeping bags and carriers containing sorry belongings in our capital city. I don’t normally photograph them because they are usually occupied and it seems an invasion of what privacy the unfortunate street dwellers have. I can only imagine that the person who left these had gone off somewhere to warm up. Perhaps behind the air vents of an eating establishment such as
Less than a year ago foundations were being laid for the building of which this establishment occupies the ground floor. To our left of this photograph can be seen Lower Marsh where Norman and I lunched.
Part of the popular Pret a Manger chain, this branch has caught on quickly.
Also visible in the panoramic shot, behind the buses, is the Cuban restaurant outside which stands their Cubana Street Food Bar. Steam rising from the dishes on display looked very welcoming.
In the warmth inside La Barca Norman and I enjoyed a well-filled chickpea soup followed by Fegato alla Veneziana and Polenta served with perfect sugar snaps, broccoli, green beans and roast potatoes. We shared a bottle of a 2015 Montepulciano.
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When I walked around the Keyhaven – Lymington Nature Reserve recently I finished up at the boat yard I now know is the Lymington Yacht Haven. Today I chose to begin at the Haven and wander around it.
Jackie therefore drove me to Pinckney Path from which I had returned to Normandy Lane.
The woman walking towards me pointed to this sign giving the history of the route
through to the boats.
A walker, presumably having emerged from the bird sanctuary, passed me as I stooped to photograph supports of a boat.
Other ramblers could be seen on the far side of the reserve, with the ferry boat making for the Isle of Wight beyond.
I suppose this was really a dry dock area, with boats being supported by wooden struts and other devices,
such as these container drums.
A variety of hulls were prepared for work.
Reflections were seen on car windows
and on the hulls of the cleaner boats.
There was little work being undertaken, but this gentleman climbed down from ‘Plymouth’.
Walking through the boat yard led to the marina where boats and their reflections shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight.
This evening we dined on further helpings of the roast duck and savoury rice, supplemented by spring rolls. I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon.
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The mist that shrouded the garden never left Downton today.
Motoring further away from the coast into the forest in the mid-afternoon, Jackie and I left the fog behind us and were treated to bright sunshine sending splayed shafts through the trees alongside
Holmsley Passage.
The few leaves that still clung to the slender branches became dancing will-o-the-wisps flirting with autumn’s bronzed ferns;
and individual trunks were spotlit pillars.
Haze surrounded a solitary pony on the roadside approaching Burley, where
pools of recent precipitation reflected housing, trees, and sky.
The herd of red deer that had not been in evidence on our last visit to that village had today, as is their wont, invaded the field in front of the Manor House, where they rendered lawn mowers redundant.
By the time we returned home via Hordle Lane the mist had (in)visibly thickened.
This evening we dined with Becky and Matthew on Jackie’s tasty cottage pie, tender beef in red wine, and piquant cauliflower cheese. I drank Languedoc rouge 2015.
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An underground problem with installation of the new phone line required further attention today. This necessitated a visit from another engineer who completed the task.
Jackie then drove us around the forest in a very wet late afternoon.
Much rain has fallen during our weekend away. Familiar pools have returned to the forest floor.
The moorland in the rain took on a dramatic aspect as the clouds unloaded their precipitation.
Between Brockenhurst and Beaulieu, the River Lymington has burst its banks.
Sunset is early at this time of the year;
it is a reflection of the different light today that this is the same clump of trees beside Hatchet Pond that I photographed at virtually the same time from a slightly different angle yesterday.
As we waited at the level crossing on the approach to Lymington, an elliptical disc that was a murmuration of starlings slid around the skies.
This evening we dined on roast lamb with roast potatoes and crunchy carrots and cauliflower. I drank Clervigny Arbois, 2014
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The bright sunshine that tempted us out for an early drive through the forest was to last all day.
Beams searching their way into the trees picked out the browns, the golds, the greens, and the greys of the season.
while dog walkers shared the bracken coated moors with browsing ponies.
Sunlight slashed the road skirting Holmsley on the way to Burley.
I am no good at cars, so I cannot identify either the old or the new models passing each other here. No doubt a reader will oblige. (Cue, Barrie). (Barrie responded to his cue and put this on Facebook: ‘As to the cars, the old one is what looks like a bog standard Austin 7 albeit quite an early one (1920s) as it does not have a rear fuel tank. The newer one at first I thought was a Volvo (new cars all look the same to me!) but expanding the picture shows what looks like a round red badge on the grill so I believe it to be some sort of Jaguar, but I stand to be corrected!’)
There are a number of golf courses in the New Forest. As we passed one just outside Burley, I notice both ponies and putters on the green. By the time Jackie had parked the Modus and I had walked back, the golfers were moving on, to another tee on the opposite side of the road. I pointed out to one that a ball lay in the ditch. He thanked me, hooked out the ball with a club, and joined his friends who were surrounded by a similar equine audience.
Undeterred, the sporting trio teed off.
Another group of three ponies dozing on the verge of Burley Street had not moved by the time I returned from a wander down Honey Lane.
The lane, pock-marked by pitted pools, was more hospitable to Land Rovers than to our little car, so Jackie parked up and left me to it.
We took a rest and a late breakfast at The Hyde-Out Cafe. My choice was a Full English, while Jackie’s was fried eggs on toast. That took care of lunch, too.
There were warning signs informing drivers that pigs were roaming free, but just beyond Gorley it was a cyclist who hogged the centre of the road.
A more sensible female equestrian kept her steed to the edge of it.
Not so a group of donkeys, one of whom held eye contact through our windscreen until the helpful horse nudged it and its friends aside, and continued on its way.
A free Forest pony, sporting Regency style ringlets, observed all this with interest.
As we approached Godshill, a helmeted cyclist employed staccato stop-start attempts to lead his family across a road junction. He alternated between calling them forward and sending them back, as he made the same movements. To our relief, he was eventually successful.
We made our way home via Roger Penny Way, one of the major thoroughfares traversing the forest.
This evening we dined on beefburgers with caramelised onions on a bed of roasted vegetables; mashed potato; carrots, cauliflower, spinach, and Brussels sprouts; followed by Jackie’s tried and tested pumpkin pie with whipped cream that had been bought and paid for. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, while I quaffed Cono Sur Bicicleta pinot noir 2015.
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Becky and Ian returned home at lunchtime. I spent the afternoon printing off a draft novel a friend has sent me, doing me the honour of seeking my opinion on the work.
We left the printer processing the last few pages and set off for Tanners Lane to witness the sunset.
Naturally we were obliged to take our time in the queue to the beach. Some of the ponies sported day-glo orange to make sure they were noticed.
While waiting for a clear path we observed the evening light on the Isle of Wight in the distance.
This glow lent lively colours to the beach and sea waters at high, lapping, tide; and, of course, the Island, The Needles, and the lighthouse.
One other photographer was abroad. Naturally we had a chat.
Eventually, the sun sank low enough for the Electric Light Show to begin.
Back home this evening, Jackie and I dined on her wonderful sausage casserole, mashed potato, and boiled carrots, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts. I drank Mendoza Bodega Toneles malbec 2012.
