25th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The wind is still biting and there is no sight of the sun today. Occasional little squalls of cold rain. The sea is slate grey green and nudges up and down the sand carelessly. Robins are singing from every bush and any sign of spring has melted away except for the very first daffodil in the shelter of the pines on the Barrow earthworks.
From 25th February 2022
The yellow gorse flowers stand out brilliantly against a clear blue sky dotted with fair weather cumulus clouds. The wind is icy from the North West but the sun is strong in sheltered spots. The straight lines of surf curl over and thump onto the beach sending up a fine white spray that is whisked away by the breeze. A crow barks from the short grass. The mass of violets and daisies are joined by clumps of daffodils and snowdrops. Little splashes of purple and orange reveal where crocuses are hiding. There are a few early green-striped white bells of the three-sided leeks which are our version of wild garlic. A robin sings high in an ilex tree. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #springisonitsway #February
From 25th February 2019
Do you remember when food stylists could get away with spraying a good inch of shaving foam on top of a pint of beer which the advertising matter would then describe as "creamy"/ And you might get a shot of a row of men standing at a bar an inch wide strip of glutinous foam across their top lips and with their creamy pints in hand, pinkies cocked like a row of elderly ladies drinking tea at the vicarage. Well, the sea was like that this afternoon. Creamy, I mean, not any of the other stuff. I've not seen it like that before. It wasn't the sort of fairy foam you get at the tide's edge in a storm but a definite rich - well - cream. Tonight, everything's back to cool lager freshness.
From 25th February 2017
It's what we old sea dogs call a filthy night. The cold wind whipping up the fine drizzle that dances on your cheeks. Row upon row of small broken waves ghost in from the darkness. The streetlamps stretch away into the night forlorn because the promenade is quite deserted. The coloured lights on the pier put on a brave show but I think I'll give it a miss tonight.
