scooters

On The Beach (2)

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Darting pin points of fleeting snow given added impetus by biting winds crossing Christchurch Bay failed to deter family out to enjoy fun on the sand, despite this morning’s gloom necessitating the use of car headlights.

For the first time this year my fingers tingled painfully as I plied my camera while Jackie snuggled up in the car with her puzzle book. The precipitation did not settle.

Children brought their own transport into play, in the form of smart scooters

and a wobbly bicycle.

Judging by the gesticulation displayed in the twist of her free hand, one young woman was engaged in an animated mobile conversation.

A little girl put the sea wall to the use for which it was intended.

Dogs frolicked with or without their owners,

and made welcome new acquaintances.

A photographer operated on the roaring waves with the use of a tripod and an extension cable.

He wasn’t so concerned with the two ferry boats coming into harbour, bearing a few intrepid passengers.

A crow on the sand watched the incoming waves,

and a stranded cotton reel had once been bobbin’ on the tide.

On this second weekend of the Six Nations rugby tournament, I watched first ITV’s coverage of the game between Italy and Ireland in Rome, followed by Wales v. England on BBC in Cardiff. The first game was far too one-side to enthrall; the second one of the most thrilling I have ever seen.

Our dinner this evening (look away, Yvonne) consisted of Jackie’s hearty liver and bacon casserole, served with boiled potatoes, carrots, and curly kale. This was followed by Sicilian lemon tart and cream. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, my choice was Cimerosa Reserva Privada cabernet sauvignon 2015.

Brunch

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Late this bright, sunny, and chilly, morning, Becky and Ian, Jackie and I, motored to Steamer Point for brunch in The Friars Cliff Cafe.

Blue sky and cotton clouds reflected their hues in ocean stripes against the backcloth of the Isle of Wight and The Needles, as walkers strode out along the steps of Friars Cliff beach.

People basked in the sunshine, which was surprisingly warm;

enough for the cafe tables on the promenade to be well patronised.

Smaller beings slalomed their way among feet and shadows.

Becky led Scooby down to look at the water, but his attention became diverted by an elegant, waving, tail.

Even when seated at the outside tables many people discarded their coats, like a couple of boys who hung theirs on their scooters, equally superfluous to requirements on the shingle.

The group in the background of the picture containing the mobile phone user was just one of many at the water’s edge.

This evening the four of us dined on Jackie’s luscious sausage casserole, mashed potato and swede; crunchy carrots and Brussels sprouts; followed by the most appetising pumpkin pie I have ever tasted. The Culinary Queen attributes the success to an extra egg, evaporated milk, nutmeg, and cinnamon. She and Becky finished the sauvignon blanc, Ian chose Peroni, and I drank El Pinsapo gran seleccion rioja, 2011.

On another warm and sunny morning, I began by walking the coast road route to Hordle cliff top where sun glinted on the memorial benches, and walkers were silhouetted against the sea and sky. I descended the steps to the shingle, and returned home via Shorefield.
On the right hand side of the road I noticed another set of barriers to ramblers. These were a five barred gate, a padlocked pedestrian one, and a stile warning of an electrified fence. Clearly private land, I wondered why the stile was there. Had it once been the entrance to a public footpath?
Further along, a blue scooter had been abandoned on the grass verge reminded me of Imogen’s story. She was very proud of her pink micro scooter that had been given to her last Christmas. One day recently on an outing with a friend, confusion had arisen about who was pushing it home. The result was that it was left behind. Louisa posted an alert on Facebook, but this was not needed because, a day or so later, she discovered it had been handed in at the park, from where it was retrieved by my granddaughter. This brought great relief, not least because of the expense of replacing it.

On the way down to the beach, pausing to pass the time of day with beetles exploring the mechanism of a dandelion clock, I noticed a young man crouching at the bottom of the steps intent on photographing something on the pebbles.
This was Phil, a very engaging personality who had focussed on a pair of pink two wheeled chariots apparently left there by a family group seated at the water’s edge. We had a pleasant conversation about scooters, cameras, and lenses.
On my return, I joined Jackie who had already begun the continued clearance of the back drive. From now on we will be saving the brushwood for a bonfire when Jessica and Imogen bring their parents down in November.
Buried in the undergrowth by our five-barred gate Jackie discovered the remains of two little boys – sculptures, that is. One was largely intact, but with a severed head, so she laid him to rest, with a smooth stone for a pillow. The other is in rather more pieces.
So far we have found five iron stakes with ring tops protruding from the gravelled earth. Apart from constantly tripping us up, they seem to serve no useful purpose. Maybe they were once used to tether elephants. Jackie spent most of the morning trying to dig one up. Somewhere deep down there is a further fixture preventing us from pulling them out. Three, with aid of an axe head, I have managed to bury out of harm’s way. The other two required the hacksaw treatment.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chicken jalfrezi (recipe) and pilau rice. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the rioja opened the day before yesterday.