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This morning I continued work on the rose garden, Jackie cut back plants in other beds, and
Aaron made considerable headway on weeding the gravel paths.
After lunch, Jackie and I drove into the forest. The terrain around Fritham seems to be the home of miniature ponies. I tend to call them all Shetlands, because I don’t know any better. As we drove past a car park we noticed one vehicle surrounded by these little creatures. Naturally we turned round to investigate.
Brian, who is concerned that I don’t feed carrots to the ponies, should be very pleased that a little girl was doing just that.
When the time came for our little friend to wave goodbye
the fickle animals moved on to see what they could scrounge from the next vehicle.
A few larger ponies did mingle with the smaller ones,
one of which had me wondering whether there was such a thing as a Dalmatian pony. Later research revealed that it is probably a miniature British spotted pony,
which, when a young woman on the other side of the car park opened her car boot to change her footwear, trotted over and stood patiently, silently, behind her.
Perhaps she felt its breath, for, with a joyful exclamation, she turned and patted it, just as she was in the process of prising off a footwear boot.
Our return home was via Bramshaw, where black-faced sheep spilled into the road.
Upon investigation I discovered that the Newbridge Telephone Kiosk is now a repository for local social history. Among the photographs inside is one of the phone box when it was in use as such, with information about the iconic design and its creator;
Images of St Mary’s Church and an early wedding can be seen through a broken window;
two more weddings, seen here through murky glass, are also remembered.
This evening we dined on tasty pork chops with apple sauce, flavoursome sage and onion stuffing; creamy swede and potato mash; crisp carrots, broccoli and green beans; and piquant cauliflower cheese. I finished the merlot, and Jackie abstained.