6th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The pigeons are performing their annual dances. First, a little circle dance where the male turns round and round while the female looks on. And then stiffly, proudly walks beside her across the grass trying to get her to look at him until she flies off. The green leaves of the Holm Oaks are covered with tiny wandering brown trails which, in the end, consume the whole of the leaf. These are leaf miners, so small that they can live within the thickness of the leaf. In early summer they will lay eggs and the tiny grubs will emerge next year at this time to start all over again. On the clifftop where people often leave a bunch of flowers there is a peculiar offering today. Some broccoli, half a cabbage and three lettuce leaves. Make of that what you will. Meanwhile the day continues grey with a cold breeze. The sea grumbles on.
From 6th March 2022
A bitter, blustery northerly wind. The waves, coming in slantwise to the shore make a continuous roaring noise as each wave is beginning to break whilst the one ahead is still surging up the beach. Great slabs of grey cloud slide across the clear blue sky, first hiding then revealing the sun which is failing to inject any warmth into the day. But is does pick out the myriad silver daisies on the short green. Two wood pigeons in their dandy spring finery, pink breast and dapper white neckerchief, are playing kiss chase under the ilex trees. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #March
From 6th March 2021
No frost but it's bitingly cold and cheeks fingers and ears are soon tingling. A little group of surfers are already in the water looking like a party of seals. The sea is calm. They may have to lounge there for some time before any sort of wave appears. Further along the Saturday swimmers are bobbing and bouncing. The faint sound of the engines and pumps from the big dredger anchored off the pier creep across the bay where she is replenishing the sand on the beach for our future delight. The rising sun bursts through the purple streaks of cloud and directs a brilliant orange beam right across the water along side the dredger. The dredger is called Willem van Oranje. Make of that what you will. She is powered by used coking oil. Under one of the benches three or four plastic cups roll with a hollow mournful sound. The air is still and silent under the pines. The only sounds are the continual moaning of the pigeons and the chat and squabble of magpies.
From 6th March 2019
to me, what has been at the root of our troubles over the past thirty years. We have moved from a culture of hope to a culture of fear. And fear is what strangles us. We suffocate under a blanket of fear and retreat to glassy eyed paralysis. To change the world, change the way you think about it. Move from seeing the looming catastrophe to promoting the solutions. We've got nothing to lose, really.
