I wasted the best part of a rainy afternoon wrestling with my scanner because I had planned to start a new series of slides and negatives, but it is so long since I worked on any of those that I managed to mess up the settings and couldn’t sort them out. I even downloaded a manual from the internet but couldn’t understand what to do with it. Children, grandchildren, great nieces and nephews – help me please.
My caring Chauffeuse, despite the increasing hammering of rain lashed by 50+ m.p.h. winds, dragged me out of my slough of despond by suggesting we went out for a drive.
We began on the eroded cliffs of Milford on Sea
along which I struggled against the gales.
Waves crashed against the rocks below and the Isle of Wight was barely visible to intrepid walkers.
Ripples blew across the car park; traffic control signs, and barriers to road works were flattened.
Continuing inland we listened to the mesmerising swish of windscreen wipers and the cacophony of clattering rain,
gazed on wet fields with neither sheltered livestock nor sensible wildlife in sight.
We were about to turn for home, but on such a day it seemed obligatory to investigate Waterditch Road. So we did.
As we traversed the ford over the stream that no doubt gave the road its name we felt grateful that we did not live in the house beside it.
British Summer Time does not end until 2 a.m. tomorrow morning, but, driving into headlights through Highcliffe soon after 5 p.m. one would never have known.
This evening we dined on toothsome baked gammon; crisp roast potatoes; succulent ratatouille; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Montpeyroux. Afterwards we enjoyed Jackie’s aromatic apple pie and cream.