For some reason best known to themselves Flo and her family take a perverse delight in occupying my chair on their visits. This reached its pinnacle on March 31st 2013. On that occasion Matthew’s Oddie joined in on the act. He was often the sole occupant but the post ‘Whose Chair Is It Anyway’ describes how this did give him logistical problems. When I 
came downstairs this morning I found that the chair had been festooned with decorations. Since our granddaughter goes to bed much later than we do, there can only have been one culprit.
I reversed my Hordle Cliff top walk this morning. In Shorefield Country Park, where the tilt 
of trees adjacent to the footpath to the sea demonstrated their vulnerability to the ocean breezes, blackbirds scurried in the hedges and foraged on the lawns.
A lone kite surfer sped skimming over the surface of The Solent, the horizon of which bore a silver lining.
On Downton Lane the MacDonald’s balloon had floated under the bridge and become snagged further along the stream. A few feeble blackberries in the hedgerows were continuing their attempt to ripen.
Decorating the house continued throughout the day. By the evening my study area, through the arch in which could be seen the Christmas tree in the sitting room, was looking quite festive. The colour combination of Flo’s leaves and the warming pan was particularly inspired.
The kitchen carried its own bunting, and also benefited from the lighting on the wisteria arbour outside.
Further projects will not be fully ready for publication until tomorrow.
This evening we dined on the rest of the plentiful Happy Wok meal. Jackie drank Stella, Flo chose water, and I began a splendid bottle of Reserve des Tuguets Madiran 2010.
Tag: trees
The Green Man
Today’s weather pattern was similar to yesterday’s. I therefore delved into the archives again and came up with another black and white picture of Sam looking remarkably like his daughter Orlaith, among a collection of shots of still naked trees that must have 
been taken early in 1982 somewhere in Surrey. I love the contorted shapes and the images they sometimes reveal. Study, for example, the last picture above. Can you see the Green Man of legend? He is a mythological figure representing rebirth, and, reproduced in every art form, whether drawing, painting or sculpture, is frequently seen as an architectural symbol or a pub sign. Very often he is painted as if formed from foliage. I have never seen him depicted in bark, which is my excuse for breaking my normal rule and altering an image.
Perhaps the fossilised Picasso-like deer in this shot is easier to spot.
As the day brightened up, I wandered along Hordle Lane as far as the path by the side of Apple Court Garden, and along this until my way was barred by a locked five-barred gate. I then retraced my steps. 
Two of the horses in the paddock still wore their protective 
masks, although the day was less fly-blown.
We now have a delicate little clematis Campaniflora rambling across the plants in the front garden.
Water lilies are still forcing their way to the light in the tiny pond created in an old water tank.
Among the most fidgety of the butterflies we have is the small white, which, like Tigger, never seems to be able to settle. They are constantly, restlessly, flitting around the garden. I managed, fleetingly, to catch one on a bidens. It didn’t stay long enough to disturb the other two basking insects.
Having noticed that Apple Court were advertising rare and unusual plants, I returned this afternoon with the head gardener to make some purchases. We bought a Persicaria microcephalus Red Dragon; a Hydrangea paniculata Phantom; two Athyriums, one Metallicum, the other dictum Red Beauty; and a Dryopteris erythrosora Brilliance.
In the sales area Meadow Brown butterflies and bees flocked to the cone flowers. In the garden itself, a magnificent catalpa shed its shaded blooms, vying with the sunlight in dappling the lawn beneath, and Primrose was having her photograph taken.
Water lilies in the capacious carp ponds had no need to force their way into the sunlight.
When we returned with our spoils, seizing upon the opportunity to contribute to the planting, and, more significantly, to take a break from digging up concrete slabs, I volunteered to dig the holes for the new residents. This turned out to be somewhat unwise. I began with the ferns, which were destined for a comparatively fallow spot where only weeds seemed to be growing. Almost immediately I hit upon large lumps of tufa. Tufa is a porous rock, formed near mineral springs, upon which some hardy plants will grow. It is popular for rockeries and alpines. Maybe a rockery was once intended for this bed. 
The large piece on the left of the pile in the picture demonstrates that it is useful on which to grow certain plants. Not ideally those it was harbouring. 
Having dug all this out, the craters left had to be filled with soil scrounged from other parts of the garden. Then we planted our ferns.
The lair allocated for the Red Dragon involved piercing a mixture of clay and gravel. Fortunately for me Jackie did most of it.
Finally, I only had to negotiate a tree root before setting the Phantom hydrangea standing proud.
This evening we again dined on Jackie’s luscious lamb jalfrezi with boiled rice, followed by evap on strawberries on raspberry twirl cheesecake. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank Chateau Chataigniere Bordeaux 2012.
Identification Required
Last night Jackie came up with an excellent idea for recycling some of the IKEA wardrobe sections in the creation of the garage library/laundry room. This was going to need the use of a saw, and we only possessed the hacking kind.
A further trip to B & Q in Christchurch was therefore required, especially as we needed some more of their curtains and dowelling for the rails.
We bought all these and stopped off at Fergusson’s inHighcliffe to collect a mirror that came with one of the chests of drawers we had bought. While she was at it, Jackie added the hand-painted screen seen on the left of the photograph, to our purchases.
There were long mounting brackets attached to the mirror. I had travelled from B & Q in comparative comfort, with two eight foot dowelling poles over my left shoulder. The journey from the House Clearance shop was a little more complicated. The dowelling was now being kept company by one of the mounting brackets, whilst I held the screen close to my right cheek.
We also wanted to go to New Milton to visit the bank and buy some mounting card and Glu Dots for the photographs I featured yesterday, but thought it sensible to go home and unload first. Glu Dots are a Blu Tack product which hold the pictures in place and are removable when required. We found them in New Forest Stationers which is very well stocked with all art and writing materials.
Now, the IKEA sections have spent a week in the rain on the skip pile. They are also spiked with various bolts, screws, and fastenings. I therefore took a screwdriver to them, and undid what I could before we trundled the requisite number back into the garage whence they had come from.
We have a number of containers packed with domestic items surplus to our requirements that may be useful for younger home makers. Before we could get the IKEA kit back in the garage we had to make room for it. This involved carting those other boxes to the shed at the bottom of the garden.
After this exercise Jackie put up two more pairs of curtains in the kitchen, and I flopped for a while before wandering around the garden realising exactly how little we know about its plants, many of which are clearly unusual specimens. Of those we think we have identified, we would welcome readers’ confirmation. Of those we can’t, all offers will be gratefully received.
There are many decorative trees, almost none of which we know. For example, this one in the front garden:
or this in the back:
The aquilegias and dianthus we are confident of,
but this flower, on long tall stems, has us beaten:
as do both the pink and white ones here:
The very prolific white plants we think are scillas. Could the pink flowers be tierellas or heucherellas?
Perched on a table near a water butt is a potted cactus.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious lamb jalfrezi (recipe) with savoury rice. I drank sparkling water.
P.S. 31st July 2014
Jackie has now identified the white flower that had us beaten. It is libertia, like so many of our plants, a native of New Zealand.
Now You See Them……..
On this cold but crisp morning, the sun only managed to penetrate the mist at midday, by which time I was home. Gone were the delicately tinted skies of yesterday, but by the time we were lunching on Jackie’s sublime chicken broth, fluffy white clouds adorned a clear blue sky.
I walked directly through the forest from Upper Drive, turning right when I reached the road through London Minstead, and back up Running Hill.
There was not much point in trying to reuse the paths I had discovered last summer, because there were many freshly fallen trees, or their recently amputated limbs. Consequently,as I sought new ones, I often had to extricate myself from the evergreen holly branches, which seem to have proliferated.
As usual I followed pony tracks. Especially on the steep downhill slopes, when I had no skis, I found that the animals were surer footed than I. There was often a definite possibility that I would lose a Wellington boot to the suction of the mud.
The forest was silent, except for the squelching and crunching of my boots, the snapping of twigs, and the steady pit pat of moisture dripping from the trees. 
The general dampness of the season had produced emerald green moss and golden orange fungus with incredible richness of colour.
A tall beech tree had holes bored right through its trunk. It seemed to be surviving. Others, seemingly supported by their neighbours, lurched at alarming angles.
As I emerged from the forest and walked through London Minstead, I was aware of different sounds. The cackling of geese and hens, a cock crowing, a wood pigeon crying out for a mate, rooks cawing, and smaller birds chirruping. 
Until I reached the bottom of Running Hill I had seen nor heard no sign of human life. Then, a sound I recognised from last year, followed by fog lamps glowing in the distance, emanated from Jeremy’s hoover which he could only just squeeze through the railings by the stream opposite Hungerford Cottage. As friendly as ever, the man charged with clearing up the pony droppings, was only too pleased to turn off his engine, wind down his window, and have a chat.
In fact Jeremy was almost the only living creature I encountered this morning. But not quite. Through a gap in the holly bushes ahead of me in the forest I had seen the shadowy movement of possibly three deer. They are probably accustomed to the sight of my camera now, for they seem to enjoy a game of catch us if you can, as they prance fleetingly from view. 
This last picture had them in it when I pressed the shutter. I swear it did.
We had a brief, entertaining, visit from Jackie’s sister Helen, and niece Rachel early this afternoon. Rachel brought Jackie’s Christmas present and Helen brought some coffee and vanilla shortbread biscuits she had made. Artistic culinary expertise runs in the family.
This evening we dined at Totton’s very friendly Family House Chinese restaurant. The M3 set meal, which we chose, begins with plentiful starters of prawn toast, seaweed, and chunky lean spare ribs; shredded duck is then served with the usual additions, except that there are more pancakes than we are accustomed to; mixed vegetables, chicken and black bean sauce, shredded beef, and special fried rice share the top billing. That is quite enough for two. We both drank T’Sing Tao beer. We were the only diners, although the takeaway trade was, as we have noticed in more than one local restaurant, thriving.
A Woman Paid My Fare
A full moon illuminated the kitchen at 3.30 a.m. this morning. 
Somewhat later, but still too early for the sun to have turned the corner, a large fat baby blackbird monopolised the dish on the bird feeder, repelling all other boarders. It confused us by attacking an adult blackbird that had at first been feeding it. Was this the case of a tyro turning on its tutor? Or just an ungrateful child? Later, when it descended onto the lawn, and began calling for food that the parent provided from the dish, we realised it was the latter.
I spent this morning on an ancient tree hunt (see 1st May) with Berry. My friend was very excited because we found and recorded twelve suitable trees in a little under four hours. 
Walking under the Castle Malwood Farm underpass, we zigzagged across the forest in the vague direction of Sir Walter Tyrrell. So fruitful was the trip that we didn’t quite reach the Rufus Stone car park before turning back for home.
Most of the trees were large oaks, some, like one that was a bit knackered, more notable than ancient. Notable is acceptable. An interesting rarity which almost caused Berry to get her feet wet, was, we think, an alder. Growing by the stream, it proved quite difficult for Berry to get a tape round to measure its girth.
I, of course, did manage to get my feet well and truly wet, not by putting them in the stream, but by falling foul of a quagmire. Jackie, who cleaned up my kit afterwards, had an opportunity to remember the time, during our first incarnation, when she had given my rugby kit similar treatment.
Perhaps the most fascinating example was found in a group of trees that had fallen in a storm. 
A huge oak branch, at first looking like a whole tree, had brought a beech down with it when it snapped away from the trunk that was more than five metres in girth. My task was to produce photographs for the Woodland Trust website.
So rich were our finds that we began to get a bit blasé, and say things like ‘we’ll do that one another time’, or ‘not really notable’.
There were an unusual number of other walkers about today. In my previous excursions this way I have never seen another person.
After a late lunch we drove to The Firs for a gardening session. Mum had come as well, and Elizabeth was already into weeding when we arrived. Elizabeth and Jackie’s main task was extracting the weeds, and mine was mowing the lawn. Danni helped all three of us in different ways. 
Before mowing the lawns the edging had to be trimmed, and all encumbrances, like tables, chairs, gardening tools, and Mum, need to be moved out of the way.
Naturally, all were reinstated when I had finished.
Of all the plants which are now re-emerging in the garden, Elizabeth is possibly most pleased with the tree peony which, like others, has benefitted from the soil improvement undertaken last year.
Elizabeth produced an excellent roast chicken dinner for us all, followed by apple crumble. Jackie, as usual, drank Hoegaarden; Mum passed; and the rest of us enjoyed Prestige de Calvet Bordeaux 2011.
As always, when we are all together, reminiscing was embarked upon. Mum reminded me of how Chris and I had collected wasps, drunk on the fruit of our grandparents’ trees, and stuffed them in a matchbox which we buried and kept unearthing to see if they were still alive. This, naturally, led to the tale of the bees (see 29th May 2012). In relating this, now, for the first time I remembered how I had completed the bus journey without any money. A woman in the seat opposite had paid my fare.
All Is Right With The World
This warm, bright, morning I walked, with a little diversion, the two underpasses route via Sir Walter Tyrrell that I had discovered three days ago.
I took a different diagonal across the, in parts still waterlogged, heathland towards the inn, as usual following pony droppings as a guide. 
When I saw the Rufus Stone through the trees on my right, I realised I had a fair chance of emerging from the forest at the Sir Walter Tyrrell. 
Indeed, I did arrive at a magnificent oak alongside the pub. I have photographed it to e-mail to Berry for consideration for the Ancient Tree Hunt. My sense of direction continued to be devoid of error. This encouraged me to take a much wider diversion to Castle Malwood Farm. 
Such paths as there were through the forest were often completely blocked by fallen trees, and had a tendency to dissolve into a shoe sucking quagmire. 
The freshly leaved and sometimes elegantly shaped trees glowed in the mid-morning sun as I made my way, not exactly unerringly, through the woodland. 
My reluctance to accept that a stream I crossed was an extension of the one I had forded the first time I did this trip brought about a minor error of judgement. 
Perhaps it was a less than somewhat minor mistake, for I completely overshot the farm and found myself confronted by scattered cottages. Whilst I walked along the road passing them, I came across two gentlemen on bicycles labouring up the hill. As I wondered whether they would be able to tell me where I was, the one in the lead stopped and asked me: ‘Are you local?’. Rightly thinking this was likely to prove a marginally embarrassing exchange, ‘sort of’, I replied. His friend sported white warpaint on his nose, rather like an Australian cricketer.
I recovered a certain amount of self respect when they asked me whether they could cycle to the Sir Walter Tyrrell from there. I told them I had just walked it, but I wouldn’t recommend cycling it. Having glanced at their steeds which were rather more thoroughbred than wild pony in nature, I told them about the fallen trees and pointed to the mud on my shoes. I described the first barrier they would find, and off they went, quipping that they might soon turn around and come back to me. This they did. I now felt it fair enough for me to ask where I was. I was 500 yards from a pub at Brook. So I retraced my steps as far as the stream, and followed it, which is of course what I should have done in the first place. I found the approaching drone of the A31 surprisingly comforting.
So there you are, my faithful doubters. A 50% failure rate. Everything back to normal. All is right with the world.
Speedwell greeted me on the verge of Lower Drive as I less than speedily clambered up from the farm underpass.
After lunch a further trip to Cadnam Garden Centre was required. This was to buy more hanging baskets and plants that any self respecting rabbit would reject if they were served up in their freshly growing salad bar. French marigolds and alysum are examples. Unfortunately alysum was off.
This evening’s feast was Jackie’s delicious chicken curry and savoury rice followed by syrup sponge and ice cream. With this I finished off the Lussac St. Emilion we had brought back from The Firs yesterday. Taking it away with us was on the instructions of Danni who said that her mother should not be tempted to imbibe for another week.
Whose Road Is It Anyway?
Back home in Minstead the coal tits on their feeder made up for the elusiveness of the small birds in Sigoules. After a morning spent preparing my papers for Philip, my accountant, I took a later than usual ford loop walk. 
Upper drive was looking resplendent in the mid-afternoon sun. The deciduous trees, not yet in leaf, displayed their shapely naked limbs. Elsewhere, hedgerows and other, smaller, trees were producing young, yellow-green, budding leaves. Daffodils still thrust their way through thorny hedges. Susan Hill, in ‘The Magic Apple Tree’, her record of a year in the country which I began reading yesterday, calls spring a ‘yellow season’. After the masses of dandelions, marigolds, and buttercups in and around Sigoules, and now us, too, being treated to its awakening, I see what she means. On this very pleasant afternoon there were even a few brief April showers.
A car that sped past me on the very narrow road to the ford, barely wide enough for a pony to straddle it, came to a sudden halt around the next bend. Hearing its approach I had stepped smartly to the side. No such courtesy was offered by the seven or eight ponies that idly blocked the road. They ambled up and down and from side to side investigating possible fodder. The driver just had to wait. Also waiting, in a side road, was a tourist driver who wasn’t sure what to do. I gave him the benefit of my vast, all of five months, experience, and helped him and his passengers on their way. 
Mind you, I was very wary about passing the rear end, by which was all the space that was available, of the first horse. Having negotiated this back passage safely, I arrived, after walking up from the ford, at what passes for the main road through the village.
Susan Hill speaks of cattle being sent into Buttercup Field at the beginning of May, having been sheltered for the winter. Obviously, in the New Forest the freedom to roam comes a bit earlier. This was brought home to me as I started up the hill through Minstead. A strange lowing sound from behind me alerted me to the fact that I was being followed up the road. Indeed, the only sense I could make of the increasingly agitated, closer and closer, mooing was that the tagged cow wanted me out of the way. I soon realised that it was keen to join its companions who had taken possession of the road and more or less covered Seamans Corner. At a rough estimate half the bovine population of the New Forest now blocked the roads and stripped what was left of the foliage.
As I approached the Corner, 
apart from the odd cow occupying the usual headless stance, pausing only to plop their own recycled fodder offerings, they were all following me up the road. It was just a wee bit disconcerting. I must admit that I did occasionally take a sneaky look to make sure there was no pizzle in sight. Had I seen one, I’m not sure what I would have done. 
Watching tradesmen negotiating these natural obstacles I often wonder how their time-sheets are affected.
Jackie produced her usual excellent arabbiata with mixed pasta for our evening meal. I had cherry pie for afters. Jackie drank Peroni while I had some Marques de Montino reserva rioja 2007.