trucks – derrickjknight

Clear, Changing, Light

We began the day with an early trip to Milford on Sea Pharmacy.

Cloudscapes over the Solent and Christchurch Bay were ever changing. The Isle of Wight, invisible not so long avows nicely silhouetted against clear blue sky beyond bands of white cotton and degrees of indigo clouds. Cerulean patches peeped through others. Empty cruise ships waited outside Southampton for Covid-19 restrictions preventing them from taking on passengers to be lifted.

Similar skies prevailed over Keyhaven Harbour

and Hurst Spit, along which a couple of heavy lorries churned up dust before descending to

Saltgrass Lane.

Numbers of walkers and their dogs stood out against the constantly changing skies. Beneath the truck in the third image featuring the spit can be see a husky dog and its human companions.

This group raised considerable attention and a number of questions which the gentleman holding the lead was happy to answer.

After lunch Jackie worked on her water features in the garden while I cleared up a little: transporting clippings to the compost; lifting wind-floored owls, none of which had been damaged; and gathering slender fallen branches.

Having now read the first five chapters of

in which Mr Dickens begins to introduce his characters, I scanned the above frontispiece – ‘It was a clear evening, with a bright moon’ – with the title page and five more of Mr Keeping’s illustrations.

‘The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was nevertheless frail and fading’

‘Neither of the three took any notice of him’ – as the artist shows us.

‘ ‘You have seen the gentleman in this way before, miss?’ ‘

‘He touched the tip of his high nose, by way of intimation that he would let Mr Pecksniff into a secret presently’

Notice how Charles Keeping, in ‘Mr Pinch set forth on a stroll about the streets’ establishes perspective as the lines of the detailed foreground donkeys recede into those of the suggested distant chimneys.

Just before dinner I dashed outside with my camera

to photograph a fleeting sunset.

Dinner then consisted of three prawn preparations, namely tempura, salt and pepper, and hot and spicy; Jackie’s flavoursome savoury rice; served with fresh salad, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Cabernet Sauvignon.

A Good Thing I Wasn’t Waiting For A Bus

CLICK ON ANY IMAGE IN A GROUP TO ACCESS ITS GALLERY, INDIVIDUAL MEMBERS OF WHICH CAN BE VIEWED FULL SIZE BY SCROLLING DOWN AND CHECKING BOX AT BOTTOM RIGHT

On her way to lunch with her sisters at MacPenny’s Garden Centre, Jackie deposited me, equipped with a packed lunch, a camera, and, in case of necessity, a book at the bus shelter looking down Ringwood Road in Bransgore. This was in order for me to watch the traffic.

A steady stream of cars approached the junction in front of me.

Some were open-topped. It was certainly the day for it.

Vans and trucks tended to publicise goods and services.

Pedestrians tended to walk down to the row of shops on the right side of Ringwood Road and return with purchases.

Crossing the road, especially for those with arms and buggies full of children, was quite a precarious undertaking. The moment had to be seized, although preferably not on the run with fish and chips.

Cyclists of various ages and styles were much in evidence. Some were obviously locals out shopping, others kitted out for a forest ride.

The same applies to motorcyclists.

A camper van carried its own resting place, while a hearse bore a coffin to its final one.

Bringing up the rear are the trailers which carried a variety of loads.

During the 2 3/4 hours I was perched at this spot, the only method of transport not represented at this very busy corner was a bus. It is a good thing I wasn’t waiting for one.

This evening Jackie and I dined on breaded chicken breasts, sautéed new potatoes, and a melange of fried onions mushrooms and peppers. Jackie drank Alta OItalia Trentino pinot Grigio 2017 (courtesy of John Jones), and I drank Camino del Angel Cabernet Sauvignon 2016 (courtesy of Elizabeth).

Carnival

This morning I walked a route I had first discovered on 5th of April. I followed a large truck along the footpath to the right of Downton Lane. This soon joined two others between the maize fields, the nearest of which was now stubble. I wandered along to the last vehicle and engaged in an entertaining and informative discussion with farmer Roger Cobb. His seemed a remarkably apt name for a maize grower.
I knew we would get on well when he at first donned a pair of dark glasses because, he said, my pink jogging bottoms were dazzling him. When I told him I had bought them in a sale during my running days, he said he wasn’t surprised. Roger, who declined to be photographed, explained that this was forage maize which was harvested earlier than that for human consumption. It was shredded, compacted, and fed to cattle. A few scattered cobs lay beside the stubble. The jolly farmer also confirmed that the dead crow was, indeed, a deterrent. Apparently these birds are very partial to maize.
On the New Milton bus route I met and conversed with a woman who was training to walk, with her granddaughter, a half marathon in London in aid of cancer research. She said she would never try this dicey road again. I was able to guide her the rest of the way, telling her there would be a footpath beyond the bottom of Downton Lane.
There was much evidence of mole activity, and the bluebells in the wood have now made way for bracken, amidst which pheasants scuttled, rustling fallen leaves.
Later, I began the task of taking out the box hedges from the future rose garden. I found them to be bordered by yet more heavy concrete slabs which I dug out and added to the pile by the shed. A liberal supply of hard core infiltrated the soil, and the roots proved to be very stubborn. I settled for removing the centre stretch, and a shallow rooted apple tree that hadn’t really made it through the rubble, yet managed to produce four fruit. Whilst I was engaged in this, Jackie shopped in Lidl, where she bought a dozen more cyclamen, the cost of which worked out at 74p. each.
A recently deceased rat lay on its back beside the compost heap, to which, gingerly grasping the tip of its tail, I added it. Unscarred, the large rodent must have seen off Bev and John’s marauding cat which is nevertheless an excellent mouser. If so, perhaps the excitement was too much for it.
Soon after this year’s Notting Hill Carnival throughout the three days of August Bank Holiday weekend, my friend Alex Schneideman posted in his journal, under the title ‘Has Carnival Had Its Day?’, photographs including a row of young men using boarded up shop fronts as a urinal, and another of a group of anxious looking police personnel. He invited discussion. This was the comment I posted this afternoon:
‘When I lived in Sutherland Place until just four years ago it was our gardens that were used as public conveniences, but Westminster council did a good clear up job. I thought the carnival had had its day then, largely because there were far too many people crowded into the small locality. If I left my flat and went through barriers to the shops in Westbourne Grove, I had to prove where I lived to get back again. The police then had much happier expressions than those anxious ones you photographed, Alex. Most of the residents of our street disappeared for the whole holiday weekend. What was to admire was the efforts that went into the marvellous floats, although the volume of the music was literally painful to the ears’. Reports on this year’s event were very different to that I experienced in 2008 when, by the skin of my teeth, I produced one of my favourite sets of images.
Before dinner this evening, Jackie drove us down to Milford on Sea where we wandered among the green-haired rocks smoothed by the waves of The Solent down the ages. Today these sometimes violent bodies of water lapped gently at the glinting sun-drying boulders strewn about the beach.
Even by her standards, Jackie excelled herself with tonight’s sausage casserole. This delicious meal was made from three different varieties of Ferndene bangers, and a gammon steak from Tesco. It was served with potato and swede mash, mange touts, carrots and cabbage; and followed by a tangy lemon and lime meringue pie. Jackie drank lambrusco, whilst my choice was Hatherwood Golden Goose beer.