Immediately after lunch we took drive into the forest where
a weak sun photographed over Charles’s Lane
and through trees at Ogden North feebly attempted to pierce cold cloud cover.
Earlier, Martin had been stymied in his work on the patio by the frozen cementing material. He left after
cutting and carrying from the Back Drive the paving slabs he had oped to fix in place.
The knitted robin decorating the Tiptoe post-box on Wootton Road, knowing where he would land, having risen early enough to catch a juicy worm, donned a breast bib to compete with the Royal Mail red,
A string of ponies gathered outside The Rising Sun at Bashley.
Looking across the valley beneath the aforementioned Ogdens North frost still lay on the roofs, while a pillar of bonfire smoke made its way to merge with the clouds.
A pair of field horses sported rugs to put their unfashionable companion to shame,
while others simply blended with their golden hay.
This evening we all dined on oven fish and chips, sliced pickled gherkins, pickled onions, onion rings, and mushy peas, with which Jackie and I both drank Trentino Pinot Grigio 2021.
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The ground may still be wet, but at least the rain had ceased today.
Martin was able to make progress on widening the step in front of the French windows, and
planning the layout of the paving, some of which he will cut to shape and size.
Jackie and I took a short drive into the forest where there was little sign of wild life.
Field horses were mostly sporting muddy rugs as
they sloshed around like these two at their gate.
Trees rooted in scooped out basins beside Beaulieu Road stand in rippling, reflecting, pools as is customary for them in rainy seasons.
This evening we dined on a choice of tasty penne Bolognese or beef casserole, with firm broccoli and tender green beans. Jackie and I chose the Bolognese, Becky enjoyed a bit of both, Flo and Dillon will take theirs later. The Culinary Queen and our daughter drank Buck’s Fizz while I drank Calvet Prestige Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021, given to me for Christmas by Martin.
Early on what would prove to be the brightest part of the day, Jackie disappeared into the garden and returned with
a range of frosty photographs, each of which is identified upon accessing the gallery by clicking on any image.
By the time we drove out to Elizabeth’s to wish her a socially distanced
the weather was becoming quite gloomy. My sister rushed out with her mobile phone, took this photograph, and e-mailed it to me. We stuck the poster in her lawn, had a brief chat, and drove away.
Jackie then parked beside the old quarry lake which I circumperambulated with my camera.
Shattered sheets of ice filled puddles on the verges
and scattered over the reflecting surfaces of the larger body of water, along which mallards floated.
Hard underfoot, pony poo, passed for Pontefract cakes direct from the freezer.
According to Jackie, seated in the Modus while I wandered among their less pampered equine cousins,
an inquisitive quartet of be-rugged field horses gathered at their gate to see what I was up to.
I was engaged in photographing the hardier breeds feeding on grass and gorse.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s onion rice; tempura prawns; and chicken tikka, with which she drank more of the Rosé and I drank more of the Malbec.
It was a pair of grey ponies at the crossroads that prompted me to ask my willing Chauffeuse to park beside
the stream at Ibsley ford, where a story began to unfold.
The greys, casting their shadows in the morning sunshine, were mirrored by a couple of cyclists engaging in a lengthy conversation before parting and going their separate ways.
Leaving its companion to admire her silhouette, the lead pony
climbed to a higher level and, despite acorns being poisonous to horses, began to snuffle around them.
A kindly woman parked nearby, left her vehicle, and began lobbing apples in the direction of the animal that had remained on the green. You may need to bigify these pictures to see the airborne fruit just beneath a cycle wheel.
Having emptied her carrier bag the lady returned to her car and continued on her way, leaving the recipient of her largesse wondering what to do next.
There are a number of mighty oaks at this location. Here, one is host to an intriguing fungus; another leans over a stream; and a third casts long shadows.
This comparative youngster has seen better days.
Visiting holiday children spent many happy hours on this makeshift swing.
On the other side of the ford the continuing stream
has recently been bridged by a fallen tree which will see no better days.
I photographed some autumn leaves and turned to find that
Jackie had been focussed on me.
In nearby fields, reflecting the much colder, albeit bright, weather, field horses are back in their winter rugs.
We drove on to Hockey’s where we brunched, even though on technically takeaway meals, this time in
a warm covered dining area with its antique displays.
We had travelled to the north of the forest in search of peckish pannage porkers, but the only ones we met were these on Hockey’s pots.
On the road to Gorley I photographed a fence and its accompanying gate; a lane with smoke wafting past a thatched cottage; and sunlight piercing the same vapours within the dappled woodland.
Jackie meanwhile focussed on
the ancient craft of hedge laying
and a winsome weather vane, in the process pausing for the wind to produce a pleasing direction.
Later, we presented a dilemma to a hind and fawn imitating a pair of rabbits in headlights. They eventually decided to take the road ahead, until they encountered an oncoming woman. What now?
The walker moved aside and they scampered back into the trees.
This evening we dined on oven fish, chips, and peas with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.
Jackie was up in the dark this morning, in time to photograph
our first smattering of snow before the rain washed it away.
This afternoon we drove to Crestwood in Lymington to complete the paperwork and pay a deposit on our new sitting room flooring which will be laid after Christmas. We continued on to the north of the forest by way of
Roger Penny Way where
the gloom could not conceal the burnished gold of bracken
and autumn leaves.
Among the fallen trees
a skeletal cervine spectre remained tethered beside a moss-coated log.
Blissford Hill was not the only thoroughfare becoming waterlogged enough for arboreal reflection.
The pannage season has been extended. Pigs dashed towards us on
Hyde Hill where Jackie parked the Modus ahead of the
billowing sounder, too fast for me to keep up with.
Suddenly they dashed off piste and disappeared into a soggy field.
I needed to wade through sucking mud to reach the gate.
A somewhat perplexed freckled Shetland pony, sharing its field with
two be-rugged horses and an oak tree, observed the porcine proceedings.
Many thatched cottages, like this one at North Gorley, were able to admire their coiffure in their weedy green pools.
Since our dinner was being slow-roasted while we were out, I had no qualms that I might have been eating the shoulder of one today’s snuffling pigs with crispy crackling, Yorkshire pudding, creamy mashed potatoes, crunchy carrots, and tender cabbage with most tasty gravy. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Fleurie.
This morning Jackie drove me to the GP surgery in Milford on Sea where I was relieved to learn that my lingering symptoms are probably due to stress – I can certainly agree with that, and just continue to take it easy.
This afternoon my Chauffeuse took me on a trip to the north of the forest.
A motley array of pigeons set off flying from the colourful tiles of the roof of Moyles Court School as we travelled through Rockford.
In a field across the road the more delicate domestic horses still sported their rugs as protection against the cold nights.
The sturdier New Forest breeds have no need of such raiment.
I closed my window before this chestnut at South Gorley could stick its nose through it.
As always, a pair of mallards took up occupation in a pool at North Gorley.
Donkeys lined the verges at Ibsley and on the Gorley Road,
where deer lounged in the sunshine, also frisking beneath Abbots Well Road,
where grazing ponies enhanced the landscape.
It is normally impossible to stop the car on Roger Penny Way. Today was the exception that enabled me to snatch this shot before following traffic arrived.
No passenger seat was vacated in the making of this post.
This evening we dined on excellent chicken shaslick, salad, and paratha from Forest Tandoori, followed by ginger ice cream.
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Early this morning we attended to bits of my body.
First, Jackie drove us to the GP surgery in Milford on Sea where I set in motion a long overdue referral for an orthopaedic assessment of my knees, and learned that I am on a list for a cataract adjustment to my left eye. I should be fully bionic soon. Next was a visit to our dental hygienist for a routine treatment.
We then returned to Hockey’s Farm Shop for a box of eggs we had left on the table yesterday.
Today the weather was decidedly soggy with occasional rain. Just one pony appeared to have ventured out. As it struggled to find nourishment along the verges of Holmsley Road it must have regretted the lack of
one of the rugs its more pampered field residents were still wore. They didn’t all even have to find their own food.
These latter animals were kept at South Gorley, so let us here return to Holmsley Road, the forest floors on either side of which are now full of temporary pools covering the terrain and reflecting branches, trunks, and mossy roots.
Crossing the A35 we come to Holmsley Passage, bordered with its own pools of precipitation and wind-blasted branches.
A woman with a dog strode down the hill and across the swollen ford just in time to enhance my photographs.
At Gorley Lynch, light rain seeped from silver-grey skies, supplementing ditchwater flowing across the crumbling road, and brightening moss on the thatch of the house alongside the farm café. This was in stark contrast to the cerulean canvas that had covered the building the day before. Note the mistletoe in the tree. There is much of it about the forest.
This evening we dined on Hockey’s Farm hot and spicy pickled onions accompanying Mr Pink’s fish and chips, and pineapple fritters in Lyle’s golden syrup. I drank Don Lotario gran reserva Navarra 2009.
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After a night of heavy rain of which, I am happy to say, I was oblivious, Jackie drove us around the lanes of Sway and Tiptoe.
Wild golden daffodils and pale yellow primroses proliferate on the verges and the banks of ditches.
When I disembarked to photograph some of these in Flexford Lane, a whinny from the field beyond them, and the thud of hoofs alerted me to the arrival of a hopeful horse which was brought to a reluctant standstill at an inner fence. Like most of the more domesticated animals this one still wore a rug to protect it from the cold, especially as the temperature drops to around freezing overnight.
The recent snow and ice has increased the number of potholes and crumbling edges of the tarmac. Many of the lanes are awash with water, some of which runs off the fields. It is the job of the ditches to absorb this, but their capacity is not always sufficient to contain it all. Barrows Lane was particularly damaged. Imagine driving along there in the dark without a depth gauge. The traffic cones are a necessary warning.
Field-kept horses are far more inquisitive than the more nonchalant New Forest ponies. One be-rugged example, as eager as its cousin in Flexford Lane, rushed silently over to the five-barred gate before I had been able to photograph it in the process of grazing. The creature had competition from its smaller, bridled, companion.
Both fixed me with a persuasive, pleading, gaze until the larger animal tossed its head in disgust. I wonder whether the smaller creature could be a forest pony in the process of being backed, which is the term for breaking in for riders. This might make sense of both the bridle, the application of which it would resist, and the lack of a rug. New Forest ponies are definitely the more hardy.
This evening we dined on a plentiful second helping of Hordle Chinese Take Away set meal for two with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Azinhaga Portuguese red.
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This morning we took a trip back to Gordleton Barn to measure a door I had photographed on our last trip in the hope that it might be suitable to replace our inner front door I don’t like. It was too thick.
The amount of rain that has fallen in the last 48 hours let up only briefly this morning, but we went for a forest drive anyway.
Damp ponies, such as these at Wootton, continued to feed on the misty moors,
Whilst I was engrossed in photographing the soggy terrain,
I glimpsed something among the trees that looked a different brown than the bracken.
It turned out to be a pony brunching on holly.
This gave us the idea of lunching at Holmsley Old Station Tea Rooms. My choice was steak and ale pie, chips, Savoy cabbage, carrots and peas. Just look at that gravy; and the wedges supplied with Jackie’s macaroni cheese, bacon, and salad.
I visited the gents which was, of course, situated at the end of the platform.
The harmless looking lions atop the entrance pillars wore lichen masks.
It was in Braggers Lane at Thorney Hill that I became rather mean to a string of be-rugged horses. Stopping to photograph pools leading to a five-barred gate, I noticed these animals far away beside distance trees. Seeing me lean on the gate they scrambled over to me, no doubt expecting to be fed.
There was no such luck, and they looked somewhat forlorn as they watched me return to the car.
Cattle in a field alongside Thatchers Lane at Sopley melded rather well with the subdued landscape.
There is a deep ditch along this road. It is now well topped up, and clearly held much attraction for the heron that burst from it every time we approached, flew a bit further, and disappeared down below. Despite keen tracking, I was unable to get a decent shot in. eventually it took off across a field and dropped from sight. We then passed a stream flowing at right angles to the ditch. Sure enough, some distance ahead, was our happy quarry. Alongside the stream ran a footpath. I took it. At last the bird sprang out from the undergrowth and presented me with my final opportunity. This was it. Jackie’s message to my readers is: “That took a lot of effort.”
We crossed from Thatchers Lane into Fish Street at Avon. After a while, Jackie stopped suddenly, backed up a bit, then came to a halt. “They aren’t going to fly away”, she exclaimed. “What is that?”, I asked, peering at a grey mass behind a thorn hedge. “An emu” she replied. These birds, of course, cannot fly. Never having seen one before, I was intrigued by the motion of their necks, as they mimicked the movement of a snake charmer’s cobra, curling low in an arc then stretching upright and repeating the dance.
It will come no surprise to anyone who has seen our lunch that all we required this evening was a small slice of pizza with which I drank a little more Shiraz.
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This morning my muse woke me with a start and uttered something about catching Dawn. What had Dawn done? I wondered. And who was she, anyway? Then it dawned on me. This was an invitation to watch a pink sky over the Isle of Wight. I prised myself out of bed, staggered into some clothes, and joined Jackie who was engaged in defrosting the car windscreen.
Down Downton Lane we hurtled, and came to an abrupt halt in the nearest coastal car park. I kept my eyes open long enough to operate the camera and totter back into the car.
The single baleful eye of The Needles lighthouse gave the impression that the Loch Ness Monster had moved house, and a solitary gull was up early.
This afternoon we shopped at Odd Spot in Burley
then went on driveabout. The oaks
opposite Longmead Farm have all but lost their leaves now.
Horses in the field now wear their rugs,
and a vast snuffling sow wandered out to investigate my activities.
Our return trip took us along Rhinefield Ornamental Drive.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic liver casserole, mashed potatoes, crunchy carrots and green beans. I drank water, and Jackie didn’t.
