3rd January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The wind comes swinging. Big buffeting blows with those big pillows of gloves. Biff, biff, biff. Each one knocking the breath out of you. Woof, woof, woof. And then your second follows up with bucket after bucket of ice cold water. It’s tough work out day on the West Cliff Green. The big green waves steeple up far off shore and then curl over and rush up the beach in a mass of white foam. The tree tops howl and cheer. Dog walkers, their coats glistening in the grey morning manage to nod and say hello before plunging off into the maelstrom again. A woman and child in pink coat are happily looking forward to a day on the beach.
From 3rd January 2022
It's extraordinary how soon after the solstice the birds start practising for spring. All our local residents are trying out their voices as dawn breaks; a sort of proto-dawn chorus. A blackbird was giving it full beans outside my window well before daylight. There is a cold, buffeting wind and the sea is roaring as it rushes in with its big green breakers. The sky is a multilayered jumble of dark and light greys. The long grasses of the clifftop are beaten down but the dried seed heads of the teasels are standing strong and dramatic. But everywhere plants are pushing up early clumps and rosettes of new green leaves. A bank of nettles looks particularly lush and, yes, there are a few flowers. Daisies are everywhere on the short grass but not there are not enough to put your foot on nine. A yellow sow-thistle begins to unfurl its yellow flowers. A pigeon coos. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #january
From 3rd January 2016
I've been out in it so you don't have to. It's the sort of weather that a countryman I once knew used to call "Wide" and the Irish call "Large". Basically, there's a lot of weather happening all at once. The sea is in turmoil and the wind is enjoying its power by thrusting the needle sharp rain drops into my face and obliterating my glasses with water (rain outside, tears of pain inside). Where the Council have cleared the trees and bushes from the Cliffside the gale funnels up and makes the pines sing (Apparently the clearance was for a site-of-special-scientific-interest but what species of mud scientists may now find specially interesting, I'm not sure). The Council workman stolidly continues emptying the bins and picking up the litter from last night's parties. Give that man a New Year's bonus.
From 3rd January 2012
A howling sand blizzard along the promenade. The sand scours every part of exposed flesh and creeps into every crevice. Down the back of my neck, into my eyes and boots and my hair is filled with the stuff. The rain drives cold needles at us and we are soaked in a minute. No use turning back, you cannot walk against the gale. Big, grey seas tear themselves to pieces against the beach sending up huge columns of white foam that add to the wind driven melee.
