Splashed Stalactites

This morning Nick Hayter performed more painstaking preparation work on our kitchen. Apart from exemplary decorating he exhibits enviable flexibility.

An Antipodean friend, in order the more safely to transport some important paperwork to another part of the UK, e-mailed the documents to me to print out and post in snail mail. This mission was carried out this afternoon. Jackie drove me to Everton Post Office where I posted the package.

The overflowing ditch at the corner of Woodcock Lane sports an excellent puddle with reflections and the possibility for passing motorists to splash potential stalactites to drip in sub zero temperatures.

Striated skies streaked over Walhampton.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy chicken jalfrezi and pilau rice with vegetable samosas. I drank more of the Recital.

From Garden To Woodland

Jackie spent much of the morning working in the greenhouse, alongside which this is the

view to the yellowing weeping birch.

Pansies are blooming in the iron urn and in hanging baskets;

others of which contain such as petunias and calendulas.

It is still the season for dahlias of varying hues.

A variety of fuchsias continue to thrive, as do

clematises, calendulas, nicotiana sylvestris, Chilean Lantern tree, heucheras, Compassion rose, nasturtiums, geranium Rozanne, sweet peas, and hot lips.

These final views are of the Gothic arch and the Shady Path with its owls.

Drops from the early morning rain may be seen on a number of the individual images which may need bigifying (a word which the internet owes to the late Pauline King).

Late this afternoon we shopped for toiletries in Old Milton before driving into the forest where

I rambled among the ponies foraging in the woodland alongside Bisterne Close.

Clouds loured over the Holmlsey skyline as we returned along the eponymous Passage.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s golden smoked haddock; piquant cauliflower cheese; creamy mashed potatoes; green peas; and bright orange carrots, with which we both drank Valle de Leyda gran reserva Suvignon Blanc 2019.

Still Tagging Along

Work continued on the Rose Garden this morning. We used a metal mallet to straighten the legs of the recent acquired rusty obelisks and hammer them into position.

More fallen leaves from the copper beech tree were swept, gathered up with big hands, and deposited into

black bags in bin subsequently transferred to the compost area. The potted pansies in the above pictures have settled in nicely.

Penstemons and fuchsias continue to thrive.

As seen on the Shady Path there are many more leaves to be collected.

This afternoon Jackie began our Christmas shopping at Otter Nurseries while I sat in the car and read more of Edwin Drood.

Although we had enjoyed the best of the light this morning we then drove into the forest where

trees are turning on Pilley Hill.

At the Lodge Lane road junction

donkeys foraged;

fallen trees stretched across the woodland;

and burnished mushrooms burgeoned beneath golden-brown beech leaves.

Indigo clouds swept across pale pink skies over St Leonard’s Road where

our familiar miniature pony still tagged along with the big girls;

and strutting pheasants trotted across adjacent fields.

This evening we dined on second helpings of Hordle Chinese Takeaway’s tasty fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Corbieres.

Car Park Conversation

We have a popular adage that asserts that all accidents come in threes. So it is with cafetière glasses. We keep spares for the large one that dispenses our morning coffee. Two have been broken in the last month. That left one. This afternoon we therefore visited the Christchurch Sainsbury’s to maintain our reserves. Jackie was successful in this purchase and bought a few more items while she was at it. This left me in the car without a book. After a while a piercing voice penetrated the fifty yards or so between me and its owner. Phrases like “blue smoke”, “three times”, “I was in Social Services”, and “I went into lots of houses” reached me quite easily.

That held my attention for quite some time. The patient listener eventually managed to unload his trolley and make his way across the car park to return it to its stand. The picture showing part of a white head does not feature the capped head that had stopped him and continued to talk and no doubt gesticulate. Even when the victim did escape the orator continued from a distance. Eventually the shopper reached the security of his car and the other man wandered away.

Just after Jackie returned to the car a heavy shower set in. I was quite grateful that it had not curtailed my entertainment.

We then took a drive through the rain,

which paused for me to photograph landscapes looking down from Braggers Lane.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s succulent sausage, liver, and Bacon casserole; creamy mashed potatoes; crunchy carrots; and tender runner beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Réserve de Bpnpas Cotes du Rhone 2019.

Spilt Milk

Once again the sunniest part of the day was this morning. I am happy to say that the fault on our landline was successfully repaired while I stayed near the phone and Jackie continued weeding and planting.

Nugget and Lady were both in attendance, but his new partner tweeted that she was not ready for her close up.

Nugget, as always, was perfectly happy to pose.

Now, “Where’s Nugget?” (64)

Our blogging friend JoAnna was surprised to see yesterday’s dragons. Here is another, complete with appropriate legend, that The Assistant Photographer also photographed for her.

This afternoon we drove to Brockenhurst station to enquire about train times, then further into the forest. Much of our National Park is actually owned by the National Trust. In the interests of preservation, this charitable body bought up areas before the Park was declared free from further development.

Cadnam and Penn Commons are both in the Trust’s ownership. It is these that we explored today.

Although a dry day, the skies in mid-afternoon were draped in clouds, giving a gloomier appearance than we experienced in reality.

The undulating ground adds interest to the landscape with skeletal trees and perhaps a trig point.

A few cattle appeared to be waiting patiently outside a farm for their dinner.

One calf was less patient. Another waited patiently in vain. Look at the mother’s hoof –

so eager was her calf that

much milk was spilt in the process. This is not unusual.

Further along the road, grazed sheep, some like fluffy white balls

a couple of normal sized ponies

and a little Shetland.

We diverted onto the track leading to Shady Pool and more ponies.

Jackie photographed the landscape,

a determined donkey trying to take my place,

and me photographing the ponies.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s fish and chips with our own pickled onions and gherkins with which we both drank Marlborough Sauvignon Blanc 2018.

Ripples And Reflections

On another afternoon of heavy rain we took a drive into the forest.

Over Lymington Road the sun attempted unsuccessfully to penetrate the brimming cloud canopy. The oak in the third picture has been remodelled by the sea air. The highest groping fingers never bear leaves.

Almost the only wildlife we saw while the rain hammered down was a pair of deer crossing Holmsley Passage ahead of us. As usual my camera missed the first one and we waited for the expected companion.

The two fords along this route are filling with rippling water.

The moors on either side of this much nibbled winding lane offered misty landscapes,

lichen covered trees,

gorse and bracken managing to look cheerful in the conditions.

Along Forest Road I stepped out to photograph a recent winterbourne pool. The Assistant Photographer was on hand to portray my progress and the whole scene because she knew I would take a closer look.

She was right.

Here is a mossy tuft;

weed, lichen,

ripples and reflections.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s watercress soup, followed by smoked haddock; creamy mashed potatoes; piquant cauliflower cheese; crunchy carrots, and tender runner beans, with which I drank more of the Costieres de Nimes.

Provoking A Squabble

Overnight winds had been powerful enough to blow this planted up stone urn off its pedestal.

Early this morning Jackie drove me to our G.P. surgery at Milford on Sea to order a repeat prescription.

We were not surprised to learn on BBC News that, at 79 m.p.h., the strongest gusts in Britain had rushed through The Needles which still seemed borne on a bed of spray as we passed them. Our home is in a direct line from these rocks, and always shares their buffeting.

The foaming waves of the Solent rolled rapidly towards our coastline, flinging ragged curtains of ocean droplets skyward. A motorboat speeding across the surface, despite its rapid rate, seemed to be bobbing up and down as it appeared to be engulfed.

Gulls reflected in pools in the car parks.

Masts at the Yacht Club stood against the sky at Keyhaven, where a group of walkers of the third age passed a younger woman with a dog.

We continued along the coast road towards Hurst Spit on and around which walkers strode beneath a fretwork of cotton clouds and streaking jet trails.

As we approached the bridge over the stream we became aware of a frenzied, shrieking, squabble of seagulls. What, we wondered, had provoked this activity?

A gentleman carefully placing muzzles on his pair of Dalmatians had spotted the answer.

He wasn’t prepared to risk a conflict between his dogs and the swans being fed from the bridge.

A string of Brent geese had found their own food in a field opposite.

Outside Solent Grange a store of stone sculptures awaited installation on the so pretentious walls.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s comforting cottage pie; crunchy carrots of virus hues; tender runner beans and cabbage.

Almost Blown Away

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James, of Peacock Computers, visited to examine the iMac, and took it away to restore it to working order. In anticipation of the Apple’s removal, I had scanned a set of photographic prints from May 1993 onto the Windows laptop. We had also thought the weather would be bad this afternoon and I would be able to use these to illustrate today’s post. In the event, the sun shone and the winds were high enough, at more than 50 m.p.h. to suggest a trip into the forest. The 1993 set will appear tomorrow.

A short distance outside East End cattle grazed on a hillside that was topped by an oak tree sporting a car tyre.

The little falabella pony which

sometimes joins its cousins outside St Leonard’s Grange,

spent its time crossing from one side of the road to the other.

Another just stayed in the road.

When we reached this point, one of the ruins of the granary was nicely silhouetted

against the lowering sun, bestowing a sepia tone.

We continued along the road, intending to return for sunset. Pheasants chased each other across the lanes and the autumnal fields.

On our return golden streaks stretched along the sky.

We took a diversion down Tanners Lane on our journey home. Those streaks had deepened over the Isle of Wight.

The winds pressed so strongly against the car door that it felt as if it was close to a wall. Just one other vehicle was parked in front of us. Perhaps it belonged to the windsurfer

who skimmed over the choppiest waves we have ever seen there,

constantly changing

direction, and almost blown away.

This evening we dined on Jackie;s gorgeously spicy chilli con carne, with her most savoury rice wearing an omelette jacket. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.

Pig On The Road

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Hoping for the cloud to clear we drove out to the north of the forest late this afternoon.

Between Sway and Brockenhurst a woman rode a New Forest pony. This can only be managed after skillful ‘backing’ or breaking in.

Her steed carried her past a gathering of diminutive Shetland or ‘Thelwell’ ponies, ignoring both me and the hair in their eyes as they foraged away.

Along Roger Penny Way we learned that pannage continues, as pigs scampered speedily along the verges

and across the road, snouts searching out mast.

Further along, a group of normal sized ponies grazed on a golf green, as a player prepared his putt. By the time Jackie had parked and I had walked back, a pair of brandished clubs had shooed off the interlopers who satisfied themselves with the roadside where they blended with the golden brown bracken.

We enjoyed dramatic skies across the moors. Blue skies peeped out from lighter clouds, and beams of sunlight pierced the darker ones.

At Godshill a farmer, carrying a bucket, led his little herd of cattle along the roadside;

a deep bellowing emanated from one straggler who broke into a surprisingly spritely sprint, lest it might miss out on whatever was in the container;

and a cow and calf had managed to find themselves on the wrong side of the road.

By the time we reached Abbots Well the landscape, and the cattle therein, basked in warm late sunlight;

the skies on our return home added gold and magenta hues to the darkening slate.

This evening we dined on salmon and smoked haddock fish pie studded with prawns; crunchy carrots and broccoli; and fried leeks and spinach. We both drank Louis de Camponac sauvignon blanc 2015.

Mah Jongg

Today’s fine weather lived up to the promise of the dawn skies on Christchurch Road.

Yvonne’s recent post in Hello World, prompted me to an exchange about the Lincoln imp, about which the Lincoln Cathedral website has this to say:

‘A HISTORY OF THE LINCOLN IMP

Posted on December 16th, 2011 |

TODAY THE LINCOLN IMP SITS CROSS-LEGGED ON A PILLAR IN THE CATHEDRAL’S ANGEL CHOIR FOR ALL TO SEE.

Tales of how he came to be perched there have emerged over time. There are several versions of the story however all of them share the same basic plot: Satan sent the imp to Lincoln Cathedral to could cause trouble. The imp carried out his orders, and began destroying the Angel Choir. When an angel appeared to prevent him causing further mayhem, the imp jumped up onto the pillar and threw rocks at the angel. In order to put a stop to his mischievousness, the angel turned the little imp to stone.

Some versions of the imp story date to the 14th century and are contemporary with the construction of the Angel Choir. The presence of the imp in the Cathedral acts as a moral symbol and is a constant reminder that ultimately good will triumph over evil.

Lincoln’s imp is a well known emblem of the Cathedral and the city, to the extent it has been adopted as the symbol of Lincoln and by the 1930s was established as the nickname of the local football club. The imp began a commercial life in the late 19th century, when local jewellers James Usher and Son began advertising a range of ‘charming and very appropriate souvenirs of Lincoln’ featuring the imp. Lincoln imp merchandise is still available today in the Cathedral’s shop.

Recently Lincoln Cathedral received a surprise when a carved wooden replica of the famous imp was received through the post – all the way from Western Australia! To add to the mystery, the letter accompanying the imp was tantalisingly brief, stating that it was being returned as its custodian had died and that it was removed on behalf of the cathedral during one of the wars. Experts in the Cathedral’s Works Department believe the imp is a Victorian copy and is at least 100 years old. The Young Journalists from Monks Abbey Junior School are due to investigate the mystery of the wandering imp, and their report will be online soon as a Highlight of the Week.’

My regular readers will know that, for 20 years, I set cryptic crosswords under the pseudonym ‘Mordred’. One of the most complex appeared in the Crossword magazine Number 284 of December 2001.

The preambles and clues of this reproduction can be ignored by most of you. The final result spells out who has been ‘Up to Mischief’, and his current location.

Becky spoke this morning about a Mah Jongg game of mine that she remembered playing with in Soho with Jessica in the 1970s. She wondered what had happened to it. As she is now playing the game on line, and really appreciated the quality of this set I was pleased to give it to her.

The small photograph inset under the glass of the table in this picture is of a very young Flo, playing Mary at her infant school.

We all lunched at a packed Beachcomber cafe in Barton on Sea, where the pink sky was returning. Ian walked there, and Becky drove the rest of us.

Once more we dined on Jackie’s delicious Christmas curries and parathas; and Becky’s savoury rice. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank El Sotillo Spanish red wine. Becky’s choice was Toro Loco rose 2014, and Ian’s Grolsch.