This afternoon, Jackie drove me to Lymington to visit the bank. This is now the nearest NatWest branch remaining open. My chauffeur parked outside and I joined a small queue. We spent quite some time listening to the lone cashier negotiating with a woman about whether or not she should withdraw £10 before Saturday. The problem was compounded by another woman having difficulty in operating the rapid deposit machine. Eventually it was my turn to be attended to. I needed to order some Australian dollars to send to Orlaith for her fifth birthday. This involved putting my bank card into a machine. It was then that I was informed that I was in Lloyd’s Bank and that NatWest was next door. I turned and entered the next building. All went smoothly after that.
We continued on to a forest drive.
At Brockenhurst, grazing ponies,
leisurely cyclists,
and eager walkers,
some with dogs, enjoyed the late afternoon sun
that lit the autumn leaves,
and was a little lower by the time we reached Rhinefield Ornamental Drive, and stretched even longer shadows.
A group of ponies hovered on one verge, contemplating crossing to the other side.
trees stretched over
streams that flowed under the road, and, like Narcissus, admired their reflections.
In photographing the forest scenes I occupied myself deciding whether to offer images in colour
or to convert them to black and white.
For this image, colour,
or black and white? It is your choice.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious chilli con carne with peas and rice. I drank Arboresque Fronton 2016.
Today’s weather pattern was similar to yesterday’s, that is mostly overcast with the sun emerging late in the afternoon. The emergence was rather later this time, and
the orb lacked complete confidence as it vied with the smoky clouds.
Once again we ventured into the forest where, on the moors near Holmsley, I disembarked to mingle with a group of ponies.
One of this year’s earliest foals was growing into a fine young chap.
He seemed rather brighter when the sun burst through;
as did his blonde companion.
A woman in the background hurried through this shot in order not to spoil it. I told her that, on the contrary, she had made it.
I followed the animals as they forced their way through their bracken camouflage,
and crossed Holmsley Passage
to try the fodder on the other side.
I spent some time with them here.
A group of walkers with a couple of small dogs passed by
and I turned to rejoin Jackie in the Modus. She was not where I had left her. I set off down the hill in search. Soon I saw her driving back up. Not having seen me slinking into the trees, she had gone in search of me. As she said, at least she had not been trying to preserve a table in a crowded café, which has sometimes been her lot as I have gone a-wandering.
On our return to Lymington we took a diversion to Goatspen car park to watch the skies taking on a smoky pink hue as the solar frisbee skimmed across them.
Jackie was delighted to spot a group of large toadstools.
We dined at Lal Quilla. My main meal was lamb Ceylon; Jackie’s, chicken sag; we shared special fried rice, an egg paratha, and an onion bhaji. We both drank Kingfisher. The food and friendly service was as good as ever.
I spent most of the day grappling with long-distance legal professionals over a small remortgage. I cannot summon the energy to detail this, but it has been going on for weeks and has only been necessary because I am too old to secure a mortgage from my bank. I have grown heartily sick of prevaricating, incompetent, and mendacious professionals who are happy to take your money while providing a useless service.
It is thirty years since I last negotiated such a loan. In those days you could walk to an office, speak to a person, and trust that what you were promised would be done. I don’t think I need tell anyone how it is now, in our progressive, unprincipled, digital age.
Jackie spent much of the day in the garden where she reshaped and added plants to the Dragon Bed section beside the greenhouse.
By 4.30 p.m., for the sake of my sanity, I was desperately in need of a ride in a motor car. Jackie happily obliged.
We began with a look at the sea at Barton. One member of a group on the beach seemed to have brought along a tent;
another man played with his dog;
a couple sat together on a bench;
Walkers,
one with a golden retriever, kept to the path along the clifftop.
Whenever a group of dog walkers meet, they swap engaging stories about their pets. Sometimes the animals are not so friendly. Lily was in trouble. She was admonished as being very naughty for nipping one of the others.
Cliffs are still crumbling.
Only the crows (if they are rooks forgive me – I don’t know the difference)
can truly feel safe on them.
As if to prove this statement, one of these took off, and clung precariously to the loose pebbles.
Down below a jogger on the beach path
checked her watch without breaking her stride.
As we travelled inland, ponies periodically exercised their right to ownership of the roads.
Sunset smiled over Roger Penny Way on our return.
Later, The Raj in Old Milton provided our takeaway meal with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the malbec.
The wind kept up this morning, but the rain did not return until this afternoon. The light changed by the minute.
As the sunshine came and went, I had to be patient to take this photograph of the front garden trellis which held solanum, roses, rose hips, petunias, lobelia, nasturtiums, and cotoneaster. Only the clematis and honeysuckle have faded from sight.
We took a trip to Highcliffe beach. A pair of dogs romped along the clifftop,
where the sign warning of crumbling cliffs will probably need to be moved further inland.
When checking on the parking fees, Jackie was greeted by a fairly faint rainbow.
A building worker shared his breakfast with the grateful gulls, and
the rainbow shifted in his direction.
Pools rippled in the car park, against which
the Isle of Wight and The Needles were virtually misted from sight.
One young man stood and watched the
choppy seas
and cloudy skies.
I only needed to turn my head inland to look down on walkers bathed in woodland sunshine;
and twist again for a view of the light on the coastline to my left
and the sight of a dog that probably didn’t belong to the surfboard carrier.
Leaving the scrub behind me,
Down steps
and slopes I descended
to the shore.
On the way down I watched a jogger and dog-walker pass each other.
The woman with the dog went on to cross paths with a couple on a lower level,
and a young lady gradually overhauled another pair, as they passed the Lifeguards’ hut.
Waves sprayed the breakwaters, and, unhindered,
rolled onto the shingle, now at my feet.
Across to my right was a clear view of Mudeford Spit and Sandbank leading to Hengistbury Head. The beach huts visible in this photograph cost as much as £275,000. That’s right. £275,000.
According to metro.co.uk this one went on the market in July this year for £280,000. The article informs us that:
‘For £280,000 you could buy a four-bedroom detached house in Huddersfield or two three-bed cottages with an acre of land in the village of Maerdy, South Wales.
The sandbank can only be accessed by a 20 minute walk, a ride on a novelty land train or by ferry but its isolated position is what gives it its exclusivity and value.
Beach hut owners have to share communal bathroom facilities and can only sleep in the huts between March and October, but can visit any time of year.
Worth a quarter of a million? BNPS
Hut 78 is in a handy location close to the ferry jetty and the communal facilities.
It looks out Christchurch Harbour where the new owners will be able to enjoy stunning sunsets.
The timber home measures 16ft 7in by 10ft 2in and comfortably sleeps four, with a double bed in a mezzanine level.
Solar panels on the roof power the fridge and lights, the cooker runs on bottled gas and there is a water tank that feeds into the kitchen sink.’
As I climbed back up to the car park, another couple of walkers greeted me and continued along their path.
I rejoined Jackie who drove us on to Barton on Sea. From there we were called back home in a hurry. We had been told by our mortgage lender to expect a call this morning from a surveyor coming to value the house. His call would be to arrange a viewing. He did call me. He was outside our house. He had been given a time to be there. We hadn’t.
I guided the gentleman round the house and garden. We then returned to New Milton for some shopping and banking, and brunched at Wendy’s excellent café. Then the rain came.
For dinner this evening Jackie produced a tasty fish pie, mashed potato, carrot and swede mash, and sautéed leeks, peppers, and green beans. She drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Fleurie.
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We spent the morning of another dull, overcast, day continuing the general tidying of the garden.
Many new aquilegias are fully or partially blooming.
Over the last few days Jackie has been fine-tuning my weeding of the back drive. In addition to digging up a few more invading brambles, most of my work this morning was transferring the Head Gardener’s piles of weeds to the compost heap. We just need to apply an herbicidal spray to the gravel and the job will be done.
More irises;
geraniums like these Johnson’s Blue from Gloucestershire’s Hidcote Gardens;
and hostas, heucheras, alliums and bluebells are some of the plants that line these borders. We thin out the profuse alliums every year.
This afternoon we voted at the local County Council elections where we were informed that the turnout was looking like 20-30%, which was about average. I ask you.
This took place at Milford on Sea church hall. Jackie then drove us to the clifftop where
we thought the pink thrift, despite the gloom of the day, was looking quite colourful against the grey water reflecting the slate sky.
A small pigeon had come to contemplate the calm sea,
and a few walkers wandered along the beach below.
The caged structure to our left of the pigeon is intended to keep the public away from the crumbling cliff edge.
This evening we dined at Lal Quilla in Lymington. The welcome, the service, and the food, were as good as ever. My choice was lamb dansak with special fried rice; Jackie’s was prawn and mushroom biriani; we shared a plain naan, and both drank Kingfisher.
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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.
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This morning we took a drive out to Lepe, during a brief window of sunshine in a gradually gloomier day.
Jackie dropped me off at the Watch House, from which I walked to the car park, alongside which, in the café, she was enjoying a coffee.
Perched on a rocky spit, the occupants of this house, reflected in the water, must have enjoyed an excellent view when on the lookout for smugglers.
A set of steep stone steps leads down from the road
alongside the seafront,
on the other side of which stand the coastguard cottages, still undergoing refurbishment.
A number of pairs walked along the sea wall.
The Dark Water stream flows under the road.
Gulls perched on the wooden breakwaters.
The sea has sculpted some of the piles into abstract forms.
Various vessels sped past the Isle of Wight.
Providing a backcloth to a dog straining to reach a gull, one yacht sailed into the harbour,
and back out to sea.
Turnstones tried their luck on the shingle,
where a spritely little dog dashed about in vain attempts to catch gulls.
The only bird, another turnstone, that it could have caught hopped around at a safe distance in the car park, on one foot. It clearly found enough food.
Alongside the car park,
in the cab of a heavy vehicle, sat a worker wielding a pen. Was he, like Jackie, working his way through a puzzle book?
From Lepe, Jackie drove us to Molly’s Den in New Milton where we bought a birthday present and my debit card was blocked. Fortunately I had enough cash to pay for the item. When we got home a phone call to the bank sorted out the problem. I really can’t be bothered to go into what they had done and the hoops I had to go through to put it right.
Elizabeth, Danni and Andy joined us this evening and we all drove to Lal Quilla in Lymington for the usual excellent meal with really friendly service. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Andy drank diet Coke. The rest of us shared two bottles of the house merlot. After that, if you expect me to detail the meals other than my own king prawn Ceylon and mushroom rice you will be disappointed.
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Knowing that the clear morning would turn overcast as the day went on, Jackie drove me to Beaulieu and back for a photo session.
We began at Hatchet Pond where a couple of well-wrapped-up silhouetted walkers, observed by swans in the icy water, passed
a pair of chomping ponies, one freckle-faced.
After a while they turned and headed back for the car park.
A number of other ponies unsuccessfully attempted to merge in with the bare branches of the trees.
Even this duck appeared to be huddled against the chilly weather;
despite being blue with cold, the more playful gulls swooped, skidded, and skated along their improvised ice floe landing strip.
There is always at least one pony lurking around the cars in the hopes of drivers donating delicacies.
This one mistook my attention for intention to feed, and peered hopefully through the windscreen as I returned to the car.
Both the large pond and the tidal Beaulieu river bore shards of ice on their banks.
I was unaware that there was risk of flooding, but the owners of Abbeygate Cottage, opposite the river, had reinforced their gateway with sandbags, so I imagine there must be one.
Ponies very rarely either make a sound or break into a trot. I was therefore surprised to hear one whinnying at a pace up and down the bank.
It was only when it took its place among the traffic that it slowed down and kept silent.
Another surprise was to see gentleman with a long stick, carrying a Waitrose ‘bag for life’ across the still wet river bed. He strode purposefully until his goal became apparent.
Quietly, patiently, the swans lined up for the treats he carried. There was none of the usual clamour as these elegant creatures craned to take food from his fingers. Even the non-squabbling gulls awaited their turn. They knew this man who loved them.
On our return, seeking a place to turn, we were assisted by two ponies blocking the road.
They were licking the salt from the tarmac.
This evening we dined on cottage pie, boiled potatoes, carrots and green beans. Jackie drank sparkling water, and I finished the barolo.
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On a gloriously sunny morning that would have graced any day in Spring, Jackie drove me, via a network of of narrow, populated roads like
Platoff Road
and Normandy Lane, to a footpath leading to Keyhaven and Lymington Nature Reserve.
As I used my long lens to bring the masts of Lymington Marina into this shot of Canada geese congregating in a field, beside which Jackie parked the car, little did I realise I would make closer acquaintance with the boatyard before my trek was over.
As I walked along the path I noticed first a woman walking along what I soon realised was a brick path around the bird sanctuary;
then a cyclist approaching from the opposite direction.
Did they, I wondered, pass the time of day as they passed each other on their brief encounter.
A five-barred gate gave onto a sloping track that led to a large rectangular route around the water lands, around which others rambled.
This perambulator had obviously dressed to blend in with the gorse.
Waterfowl basked in their sanctuary.
I rely on my ornithologist friends to correct me if necessary, but I think this is a stationary heron being passed by paddling mallards;
whereas this is an egret admiring its reflection.
A slender pigeon-like like bird didn’t manage to merge into varieties of duck that I would need some help to identify.
The woman in the foreground of this picture, after I enjoyed a chat with her, had taken a rest on one of the suitably placed observation benches, but it didn’t take her long to overtake me again.
Bird watchers availed themselves of another seat.
About halfway round the rectangle, I realised that I had a choice between walking on to the marina to find my way back to the car from there, and retracing my steps. I’m not one for taking the latter option, but this has, on occasion, presented problems. I stopped group of people and asked if I could return to Normandy Lane from there. I was told I could, and how to do it, with the observation that I couldn’t get lost. “Don’t you believe it,” I replied. “I can get lost anywhere”.
The Wight Link ferry boat soon sailed past the marina.
Ducks took to the wing;
a jogger and a dog walker took no advantage of their brief encounter;
As I left the marina and approached a path that would lead me to Normandy Lane, I met the group who had directed me earlier. “You are still on track” was the cheery greeting. I hadn’t the heart to let them know that I had been somewhat delayed by taking an incorrect, muddy, track.
Jackie was waiting for me, some two hours after my departure. A little more than intended.
This evening we dined on second helpings of yesterday’s curries, with which I consumed Chapel Vineyard cabernet sauvignon 2015.
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On a day of winds fit to threaten lingering autumn leaves like those on our crab apples, Jackie drove us to our GP surgery at Milford on Sea for our flu jabs (influenza vaccines).
Down at the coast, vociferous waves crashed onto breakwaters and rolled onto the shore and over the sea wall.
Even the gulls found huddling on the car park tarmac preferable to facing the buffeting elements.
Dramatic skies, seas, and lighting effects gave yet another perspective to the Isle of Wight and The Needles.
When I had my fill of being coated in salt water in the interests of my art, I rejoined Jackie in the car, and did my best to clean the camera lenses.
We then continued on to Friars Cliff beach where we brunched at the cafe.
Here the breakwaters also took a pounding,
but four walkers and a couple of romping dogs ventured onto the beach.
The smaller of the two dogs had a debate with its owner about whether it was possible to take refuge in the cafe. This somewhat obstructed my entrance.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s chicken marinaded in piri-piri and lemon; roasted vegetables, steamed cauliflower and Brussels sprouts, with mashed potato, I finished the madiran.
