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This afternoon we all watched Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman, and Alan Arkin, supported by Peter Serafinowicz and Ann-Margret, starring in ‘Going in Style’. This is a wonderful heist romp about three ageing friends getting their own back on a foreclosing bank. I won’t spoil the story by revealing anything more.
Afterwards the oldies in our group drove down to Barton on Sea for coffees at the Beachcomber café.
In the cold air I risked frostbite by photographing the dusk before joining the others. Some walkers hurried along the clifftop.
I wondered whether they had noticed the recently rent cleft in the cliff edge. I also wondered whether this chunk of rocky soil would still be in situ next time we pass this way.
Others, walking their dogs, strode along the shore line.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s excellent beef, mushroom, and onion pie; creamy mashed potatoes; crisp cabbage, and crunchy carrots. I drank very flavoursome and full bodied 16 Little Black Pigs shiraz cabernet 2016, one of a mixed case Ian gave me for Christmas.
This cold and wet morning we visited Anne at Kitchen Makers in Sway to discuss the finer points of our new kitchen construction. Next, we delivered a batch of photographs to Lal Quilla in Lymington for Raj to make his selection; then I ordered some currency from the bank. Most of the rest of the day was spent on mundane administration on my part, and necessary shopping on Jackie’s
As so often, the skies cleared towards evening and a good sunset was promised. We were not disappointed as we drove down to Barton on Sea.
The lowering sun brush-strokes on Roger Cobb’s field of stubble.
We watched the changing palette of the skies above Christchurch Bay, as gentle pastel shades,
especially over the Isle of Wight,
and in the water itself,
gradually deepened,
throwing walkers into silhouette.
A luminous glow blazed briefly from an apparent floating fortress on the horizon, fizzling out within minutes.
This evening we dined on perfect roast chicken, roast and mashed potatoes, mini Yorkshire puddings, flavoursome mushrooms, crisp carrots and firm Brussels sprouts. I finished the Minervois.
The sun returned today. This set us up nicely for our trawl through local solicitors in order to find one acceptable to the Family Building Society and willing to witness our signatures on the Mortgage Deed and the Declaration of Understanding.
Starting off at Milford on Sea we hit the jackpot with Dagless and Whitlock. Almost.
For these forays Jackie remained in the car while I tested the ground. This firm were willing, but they only had one Partner. The lenders insisted on two. I therefore decided to phone Garry, our mortgage advisor to see if he could find a way around this. There was no signal. When, a little later, there was one, Garry was on answerphone. I left a message.
Returning to our car I had the opportunity to envy groups of carefree folk enjoying the sunshine on the green.
We drove round to the GP surgery to collect a prescription. A spider sunbathed in the car park. It was then that I remembered Anansi. Was this creature a good omen?
We decided to hedge our bets, and try more solicitors in New Milton.
Outside Roger Cobb’s farmhouse on the coast road, a string of starlings seemed prepared to take off on a murmuration.
Neither Dixon & Stewart
nor Heppenstalls were prepared to witness the signatures, because this would suggest that they had advised us, which they hadn’t.
I was about to enter a third legal establishment when Garry rang me back with the news that a firm with only one Partner was acceptable to the lender. Monogamy rules. Back we went to Milford on Sea where we made an appointment for the witnessing, to take place on 18th.
We had definitely earned a brunch at the Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff.
Sunlight slashed the ocean,
and was borne by the waves
onto the beach where people walked their lolloping dogs and the red seaweed has almost disappeared.
One canine was keener to get to the water than was its owner.
On leaving the car, I had carried my camera, lenses, and the mortgage paperwork in a hessian supermarket bag. When I had finished taking the beach shots I didn’t have the bag. Thinking I must have put it down somewhere, I retraced my steps up to the carpark. The bag was nowhere to be seen. Back down the slopes and the steps towards the café I trudged.
Then I noticed Jackie, clearly wondering where I had got to.
Then I noticed what she was clutching. Having removed the camera I had handed her the bag. I was definitely losing the plot.
Suddenly I recovered my appetite. Now we could enjoy our brunch.
As we left the café I watched a young man allowing a little boy to be adventurous on a rocky breakwater while keeping a safe closeness.
It was definitely a day for ice creams. Despite his expression in this photograph the concerned gentleman shared his companions’ pleasure at the picture.
Another couple struggled a bit with the breeze.
Only a couple of days ago I had been told that I needed to send the report of the mortgage valuation of the house to the solicitors. The final task of the day was to return home, place this, with a covering letter, in an envelope and post it to the manager of the solicitors in Stockport, by recorded delivery. This involved a second trip to New Milton. At least it means I will know when they have received it, and they won’t get away with pretending it had arrived later.
This evening we dined on a spicy stuffed crust pizza and fresh salad, with which I drank Mendoza Parra Alta malbec 2016.
Today the temperature was unseasonably warm, and the skies overcast. Although we have a great number of flowers still blooming beyond their normal time, I chose this morning figuratively to pick
a bunch of dahlias from the garden.
On my way round my attention was drawn to a fallen leaf, twisting frantically in an attempt to free itself from the spider’s web from which it was suspended. This brought the arachnid scampering down its central line, only to be disappointed in what it had trapped.
I have recently featured developments in the West Bed, cleared of shrubs and an old rose by Aaron, and having two new roses set to climb the arch by Jackie. There is now a new bench ready for positioning on reconstituted stone paving.
Elizabeth came for lunch and dinner. This afternoon we all travelled to Friar’s Cliff Beach and visited the Beach Hut Café for refreshments.
A heavy haze restricted rendered the Isle of Wight invisible beyond a passing yacht.
From Steamer Point nature reserve I watched the couple seen in the above picture continuing along the beach in the direction of Mudeford.
Other dogs were frolicking on the beach;
one retriever in particular swimming like a seal,
its antics being filmed from the breakwater.
Even as far away as the clifftop car park we could smell the red seaweed that coated the sand
where a solitary gull wandered.
This bird was joined by another and quickly took off,
flying out to sea,
leaving the visitor all forlorn.
Bubbling eddies swirled around
the rocks swathed in green and red weed.
As the waves rolled in they were tinged with red.
The gull bobbing on the wave above leapt to avoid the next one,
and a wader flew off as I approached in an attempt to identify it.
I photographed my sister focussing on the water,
and she got her own back.
This served a dual purpose in that we could satisfy the request of LordBeariofBow to feature my new haircut so that he could pass judgement on it.
This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s superb sausages in red wine, creamy mashed potatoes, and crunchy carrots and cabbage. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Elizabeth and I drank Parra Alta malbec 2016.
This morning was spent helping the garden recover from the battering winds. This involved gathering up broken branches; tying up plants, like the rose Summer Wine, that had come adrift; a certain amount of watering; and preparing ground for chrysanthemums and bulbs.
After lunch we deposited another orange bag of cuttings in the recycling centre, and drove along the coast road to Milton on Sea.
When the sun emerged from the rapidly moving clouds The Isle of Wight and The Needles benefited from a bright clear light.
Waves still rolled thunderously onto the rocks at the water’s edge.
The clifftop had experienced more erosion since my last venture up there a few months ago.
The bricks in the foreground of this image once formed part of a long-gone structure,
and the path shown here was set further away from the edge last year.
We may have finished our lunch, but a gentleman seated on a bench, mirrored by another eating a banana in his cab,
was still enjoying his.
On the village green a group of elderly cyclists tucked into their own snacks.
I am occasionally asked about the safety of the free roaming animals. Continuing to the north of the forest we noticed this hit and run sign beside Roger Penny Way – not that unusual a phenomenon, particularly during the tourist season.
Were I ever to take it into my head to climb a tree again, I might choose this one bearing useful bracket fungus
at the side of a somewhat waterlogged lane through farmland just to the north of Cadnam,
where sheep wandered across the road.
Initially inquisitive, these creatures, when I invaded too much of their space, turned tail and made for the field from which they had wandered.
We were soon aware of a golf course on our left. A putting session was in progress.
On our return home, I photographed the Hordle Lane housing development from the rear.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s luscious liver casserole, mashed potato, green beans, and orange carrots. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Fleurie.
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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This morning I sat in the dentist’s waiting room whilst Jackie kept an appointment.
During this time I finished reading Bruce Goodman’s ‘Bits of a Boy’. Given the amazing number of spurious dental appointments young Bruce wangled, this was probably quite appropriate. This autobiographical work must have been hidden away for at least half a century. No-one could possibly take us right into the mind of a boy at various stages of life unless he was that boy – then. Read it. On line. Or downloaded. It is a must for entertainment, for history, and for atmosphere. Oh, the memories it stirred in me.
After lunch Jackie drove us to Lepe and back.
Attracted by a group of tiny ponies we stopped at Norley Wood where Jackie waited in the car for me to photograph the creatures.
Other cameras and mobile phones came into play. One woman took her photos through an open car window;
another group walked up to, and petted the animals.
They fully understood why I named this windswept pony Donald.
I have mentioned before that gorse in the forest is regularly thinned out by controlled burning. For this reason an unusually great number of larger ponies grazed on the left hand side of the road outside Beaulieu.
A few, more reluctant, after the land had cooled, to leave their familiar territory had returned to the other side, sometimes, ghostlike, reaching up into the remaining charred bushes, sometimes foraging on the grass.
There are still a large number of waterlogged trees in pools around the forest, offering, like these near Exbury, many arboreal reflections.
How did these tyres come to be in the water?
As usual, mallards, had occupied another recent pool.
So windy was it at Lepe that the waves were extremely choppy.
One yacht made its way without sail;
others, against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight, leaned at an impressive angle;
and a sailboarder skimmed across from the island and back in the blink of an eye.
Gorse bushes and rugged trees on the clifftop bent with the wind;
and daffodils lit the bank above the Watch House.
This evening we dined at Daniel’s Fish and Chips restaurant in Highcliffe. Jackie added onion rings to her cod and chips. My supplements were mushy peas and a roll and butter. I drank tea, and Jackie didn’t.
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Yesterday evening we dined with Helen, Bill, Shelly, and Ron at Tyrell’s Ford Country Inn and Hotel at Avon, near Christchurch. As the only group in the dining we enjoyed the attentions of a friendly waitress. My choice of meal was liver and bacon, mashed potato, carrots. swede, sugar snaps, green beans, and broccoli. My dessert was Dutch apple crumble and custard. Three of us shared a bottle of red, and three, white, wine.
Storm Doris, having vented all night, eased up enough for me to take a chance on keeping my lunch appointment at La Barca in Lower Marsh. To this end Jackie drove me to New Milton where the London Train arrived on time.
These gentlemen viewed from the waiting room awaiting their transport were no more disappointed than I was.
Soon after departure a tree was reported across the track outside Eastleigh. This afforded me the opportunity closely to examine the pastel shades of a line side block of flats.
After a while we were under way again, the train was only 35 minutes late, and I arrived at the restaurant before Norman had taken off his coat. We both chose artichoke soup for starters; my main course was swordfish steak in a piquant sauce served with sautéed potatoes, sugar snaps, green beans, and broccoli. We shared a bottle of the house Valpolicella. I needed no more sustenance in the evening.
The return journey was rather longer than the outward one. In addition to another tree on the track, there was a 50 m.p.h. speed limit ‘for health and safety reasons’.
Groups of assorted travellers stood on Waterloo Station, eyes glued to the departures board where they could read about delays and cancellations.
There had been many unfortunate travellers without seats on the outward journey. There were fewer of those on the way home, but they were even more discomforted when the food trolley or other passengers need to pass.
Once again I was able to study the trackside. There was graffiti between Waterloo and Vauxhall;
trees waving with the wind,
and an embankment somewhere near Basingstoke.
Jackie had been expecting to meet me at New Milton. This was not to be, because the railway company decided to decant passengers for intermediate stations at Brockenhurst, and send the train non-stop to Bournemouth. She therefore set off for the latter station. As I walked out into the car park I could see a very long traffic queue stretching a long way back in the direction from which I expected her to arrive. I decided to walk to the end of it in an effort to save her getting stuck in it. When I got there I phoned Jackie to let her know where I was. She was approaching from the opposite direction from which there was no tailback. This meant I had to walk on further in an effort to find a place where she could stop.
Sunset was now on its way. Thank goodness for mobile phones.
We chased the sunset to Milford on Sea,
where the spirited waves rushed towards the shingle.
I spent a very short time leaning into the wind. This family group who had come to watch the sea stayed out of their people carrier for an even shorter period.
Without Doris, I would not have enjoyed such line-side views, nor such moody sunsets. As they say, it’s an ill wind (that does nobody any good).
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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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Today was warmer and just one uniform shade of grey. This morning we travelled by car to New Milton where I visited the dry cleaners, the post office, and the bank. I collected cleaning, mailed a parcel and some letters, and paid a bill. All rather mundane really.
Jackie drove us on to Mudeford Quay where I went for a wander.
On the sheltered side of the quay, not even the gulls occupied the benches.
A crow took off on my approach.
I imagine most people were patronising the Haven House Inn, beyond the Sailing Club masts
on the top of one of which perched a gull,
the solitary audience of the jingle jangling rigging orchestral performance.
Most such scavengers harassed those drivers and their passengers taking a break in the car park.
I wonder if anyone has any ideas about what the woman on the spit was seeking. Stones? Shells?
She, of course ventured on the rougher, seaward, side of the harbour, where the waves roared, and no-one emerged from the beach huts.
A bright orange buoy bobbed on the surface.
Now you see it, now you don’t.
This evening we dined on lemon chicken with perfect carrots, cauliflower, greens, and boiled potatoes, followed by profiteroles. I drank Château Plessis grand vin de Bordeaux 2014.
