21st June from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A sullen grey sky to greet the solstice and a sharp little breeze that corrugates the steely sea into ridges and furrows. Later the cloud coagulatets into slate grey masses that hurry across the sky so that the sun appears against a whispy blue heaven for a few moments and then is gone again. But the clifftop still breathes a thick warmth from the bushes and greenery. Honeysuckle is draped across the verges. People in collapsible chairs with dogs at their feet enjoy what sun they can.
From 21st June 2022
A pale, high sky, a gentle breeze and a pleasant warmth echoes along the West Cliff with visions of a Midsummer Magic. Fringing the Green The Young Ladies' Hotel and the Hydro are still there, but studios and flats now. The large gentlemen's residences are replaced with apartments. One hotel remains. The old codgers in bath chairs are now old codgers in electric wheelchairs. Young mothers amble with space age buggies instead of high baby carriages pushed by nannies. I can see sun worshipping girls in bikinis attired in white muslin with high collars and parasols. Their swains in boaters and tennis whites. A group of youngsters with bluetooth speakers are overlaid by girls in pedal pushers and pony tails with a battery powered Dansette. The distant boom boom of drum and bass floating up from the sands was once a military band with red jackets and brass buttons flashing in the sun. Boom Boom. The past melds with the present. And what seems permanent is transitory and only an illusion of permanence. The trees are new arrivals. That grove of pines over there has grown up to replace that woodland walk where there is now open grass. Living things have their life span and pass onwards. Even the sand on the beach has been replaced. The cliffs shored up where once they were bare and crumbling. And the sea... The sea is always there. Always changing. Always the same. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #summer #midsummer #June
From 21st June 2021
It has been raining since first thing and has now settled into a steady drizzle. The heavy head of the trees are wagging in the breeze in green leafy disbelief at the weather for midsummer's day. The sea is flat but with an oily swell. Two or three groups of walkers in waterproofs are the only signs of life on the flat sands. But in the shelter of the pines a tall clump of purple toadflax while the bushes are smothered in honeysuckle.
From 21st June 2016
Although Jenny Wren is the most numerous bird of the British Isles you may never have spotted one. She skulks about in the leaf litter under bushes but occasionally you may catch sight of one out the corner of your eye darting close to the ground across the road. You've probably heard her pretty song coming from the heart of a thicket. Her singing is remarkably powerful for such a tiny creature so you may not associate it with her. The place you probably will see her is when she is angry and defending her territory against cats or other predators. She will take position on an exposed gatepost, tail cocked aggressively, giving her feisty chick-a-chick alarm call.
