12th August
Yucca plants originate in arid, dry deserts and for once the large yucca on the cliff is feeling entirely at home. It has produced a tall inflorescence of paper white bell-like flowers. It is one of the few flowers enjoying the heat.
Yucca plants originate in arid, dry deserts and for once the large yucca on the cliff is feeling entirely at home. It has produced a tall inflorescence of paper white bell-like flowers. It is one of the few flowers enjoying the heat. Large areas of grass are now wearing away so that those visitors who can bear the blazzing afternoon sun are picnicking on bare ground. All afternoon a pall of white smoke stretches from the burning heath land in Studland right across the harbour . It is drifting in the opposite direction from the packed Bournemouth beaches but there is a smell of smoke in the air. The razor-sharp sun is now difficult to endure for more than a few minutes but the beach goers still love it and fill the sea to a considerable way from the tide’s edge. Even the gulls are sounding anxious as they scrabble for food. Tonight there should be fireworks on the pier.
From 12th August 2021
A brisk wind and a furrowed sea. But there is a clear sky tinged with primrose yellow and delicate pink where the sun has slipped behind the dark pines. The last rays pick out the chalk stacks with a brilliant peach light.
From 12th August 2019
Distant laughter hangs on the evening air unresolved as the call of the homeward bound gulls in the fading light. Everything seems oddly tranquil after the scurry of the recent gales. The moon, nearly full now, makes a washed pink path across the wrinkling, darkling sea.
From 12th August 2015
Massive thunderstorms approaching from Channel Islands
11th August
The bay is a huge silver mirror, barely rippled at the edges but reflecting the palest of pale blue evening skies. A mauve haze describes the entire horizon which fades up into pink and then a pale green.
The bay is a huge silver mirror, barely rippled at the edges but reflecting the palest of pale blue evening skies. A mauve haze describes the entire horizon which fades up into pink and then a pale green. It is well past sunset and there is no dramatic sky to the west because there are no clouds to create the colours there. The beach is still busy and there are still walkers, amblers and sounterers of all sorts crowding the paths. There is distant laughter and gentle conversations. The only things missing on this warm summer evening are bats. The drought has been hard on these little creatures. Not only is there an absence of places to drink but the lack of moisture means there are fewer insects. Bats are thirsty and hungry, Another sign of some desperation are the piles of pine cone scales on the paths and the stripped cores rather like corn on the cob discards. These are where squirrels are eating the cones. Something the squirrels do not usually do until winter. And now the lights are beginning to prickle along the promenade and the haze smudges out the horizon so that the sea appears to go on for ever. Until a big straw coloured moon sails above and lays its cloth of gold pathway over the water.
From 11th August 2021
The dark green of the Scots Pine stands out strongly against the intense blue of the sky. There are a few white summer clouds overhead but a long line picks out the contours of the Isle of Wight. The sea sparkles and glitters in the fresh afternoon breeze. The beach is peppered with families but not over crowded.An old man with a bushy white beard has rested his walking stick across his stomach and sits back on a bench, his face turned to the sun. A small plane drones overhead. The clifftop bracken is full and tall. Under the trees a small black and white dog races through the chiaroscuro of the network of deep shadows and bright patches of sunlight.
10th August
Among the various styles of lamposts that edge the paths are two that are decorated with Art Deco date palm motifs and would appear to be originals from the 1920s or thirties.
The heavy, hot air spills up from the beach below. It brings with it the steady hum of beach goers. The sea manages enough of a swell to give children waves to jump about in. The air is still fresh enough but it is too hot to remain out in the direct sun for more than a few moments. Every piece of shade is taken up. Occasional bird song burst from the bushes. The white grass seems to be even more sparse and begins to have the feel of a desert. Among the various styles of lamposts that edge the paths are two that are decorated with Art Deco date palm motifs and would appear to be originals from the 1920s or thirties. They look especially appropriate today.
From 10th August 10th 2021
One of the few days so far this year that's promised summer. Warm sun and a blue sky. A breeze gets up over the afternoon and the sea ruffles up but still ideal for a swim. Until Clare steps on a weever fish. I've talked about them before, little monsters that bury themselves in the sand in the shallows and which become common during late summer at low tide. Step on one and you have a few minutes before the excrutiating pain kicks in. The treatment is to get the affected area in as hot water as you can stand for half an hour. The heat neutralises the poison. So our swim ends with me running up and down the prom shouting to beach hut owners for anyone who has a kettle on the boil. There usually are kind people and there were today. Poor Clare. And tough on the poor weever fish that got stood on.
From 10th August 2019
For a few minutes the sun breaks through with a wan, lemony light. The green oily bulk of the sea hurls itself at the land like an angry, inconsolable toddler in an uncontrolled fury. The spume and spindrift carry high up the beach while the water twists into a white turmoil. On the clifftop the trees, dressed in full summer leafage take the brunt of the raging wind. Along the beach a lifeguard struggles with a great red flag that streams out above and behind him. For a brief time he struggles to plant it in the swirling sand. He becomes a character from a lesser known epic by Eisentsein in which one man pits his strength against the overwhelming, unheeding might of Climate Change.
From August 10th 2011
The sea looks silver in the milky morning light. The sun is brilliant and the air is still. I think I'll chance it.
August 9th
It is a secret time here on the West Cliff Green. Just after the sun has burst into the sky and before the runners and dog walkers have emerged. In full daylight but with the benches still empty like some stage set at the beginning of a big play.
It is a secret time here on the West Cliff Green. Just after the sun has burst into the sky and before the runners and dog walkers have emerged. In full daylight but with the benches still empty like some stage set at the beginning of a big play. The lights come up but, as yet the actors have not appeared and the audience memmbers are left to wonder what they are about to see; comedy or tragedy? Plenty of excitement or another, plodding day like the one before? But there is movement. Squirrels running up and down the rough bark of the pines. The small birds beginning their late summer chorus. The gulls, sweeping across the empty blue sky. The sea, planished and burnished like a piece of William Morris silver. One of the goats tears hungrily at blackberry shoots that project throgh the wire fence. The heat of the sun already making itself felt and the cool shadows under the pines.
From August 9th 2021
Puffs and rags of summer cloud smear across the blue sky making dark shadows chase across the bay. The sun is warm but the wind is strong. The sea is green and makes a big surfy splash on the beach.
Later
The West Cliff is deserted at this time of night. There is a steady, refreshing breeze and the sea rustles softly. The clouds have scattered enough for there to be a clear starfield above. On the distant horizon, even more distant lights reflect of a low swath of cloud.
From August 9th 2015
Walking along the clifftop path through the trees I suddenly felt something cold and wet on the back of my calf. And then something cold and wet on the other calf. I looked down and there were two dogs enjoying whatever it was that my calves had to offer. The dogs' owner was apologetic and said they had done it to a lady the day before. I said this was fine but suggested he fit them with some sort of warning device.
August 8th
The mornings are a little fresher. The shadows are a little deeper. The birds are singing a little louder. As we move towards the height of summer.
The mornings are a little fresher. The shadows are a little deeper. The birds are singing a little louder. As we move towards the height of summer. The sky is a little clearer. The shadows are a little deeper. The bay is a little bluer. The beach is filled with children’s laughter. The waves are a little smoother. The gulls are drifting a little higher. The days are a little drowsier. And the evenings are all filled with fire.
#Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen#Summer #August
From August 8th 2021
Rain, strong winds, louring clouds and bright sunshine. If you can tell me what's coming next you're a better meteorologist than I am. The council non-mow policy has produced startling and beautiful results with masses of nodding grass heads especially the big plots of delicate fescues like smoke over the ground. There is also a magnificent display of yarrow. Hundreds of very closely related species of wild carrot. If you can tell these apart, you're a better botanist than I am. And then there's the thousands of microspecies of hawkweeds and hawkbeards and hawkbit. If you can tell any of these apart then... I give up.
August 7th
There are green spaces still. Beneath the canopies of the sweet chestnuts and sycamores. Hemmed in by the tall dark pines.
There are green spaces still. Beneath the canopies of the sweet chestnuts and sycamores. Hemmed in by the tall dark pines. Here are places sheltered from the intense noonday sun with only glimpses of the blue sky and the bay. Here are places to sit and read or doze. Here are dark, verdant tunnels and passageways pierced only by little rays of sunlight. Here are mysterious thickets where the Enchanters Nightshade grows amid the brambles and the bryony and honeysuckle and nettles. And bees hang on to the last flowers of the purple toadflax as if their lives depended on it. Which, I suppose, in a way, they do. Every breath of wind stirs up a cloud of thistledown which fills the air slowly drifting up and away.
From August 7th 2021
The big storm clouds, purple black as welsh slate on a sunday afternoon, wallow across the bay and touch down far out to sea. But then they begin crawling in towards us lifting to reveal big grey blankets of rain. Two - no, three, storms at once. Little threads of moisture fill the wind. Time to go in, I think.
From August 7th 2011
Little clumps of yarrow at the side of the path where they have been missed by the council mower. Dried yarrow stalks are an ancient form of divination. Should I gather some and take up fortune telling? What does the i-ching say?
Wearing my new pink plimsolls. Have to wait for a break in the storm before I can sprint home. I cannot get them wet.
Later
Has it stopped thundering? Can I uncover the mirror?
August 6th
The view through the pines and over the cliff is joyful. The blue waters of Poole Bay shiver with excitement and appear decorated with uncountable sequins that spark and glitter.
Apart from the scorched and dried grass, The West Cliff Green is at its best today The view through the pines and over the cliff is joyful. The blue waters of Poole Bay shiver with excitement and appear decorated with uncountable sequins that spark and glitter. The shadows under the pines are dark and footsteps become silent as if entering some other worldly realm.The little breeze keeps the day fresh. A tern follows the shoreline and, quite oblivious to the swimmers, dives in among them emitting its happy, squeaky call. And then appears again and is off down the beach. High, wispy clouds dissolve and the sky remains blue while the sun beats down. Pigeons coo contentedly.
From August 6th 2021
A blustering punchy wind is roughing up the clifftop bracken and bushes. The surf is pummeling the beach and out in the bay the white horses are being goaded into their mad prancing dance. The sun, though, beams down benevolently from a blue sky peppered with ragged lumps of white and grey cloud.
From August 6th 2011
Another wedding party goes past my window. Why do they all look so solemn? And why do men dress up in suits and ties for weddings but not for funerals any more?
August 5th
For the first time in many weeks, a Great tit calls out its see-sawing song from the branches of one of the pines.
For the first time in many weeks, a Great tit calls out its see-sawing song from the branches of one of the pines. The clear blue sky is populated with the puffy clouds that grow and shrink, sometimes blotting out the sun with big grey mounds, sometimes retreating to be friendly little white tufts. And so the day see-saws from warm to chilly from minute to minute. Twenty or thirty policemen form two or three groups armed with sticks with which they poke about under the bushes. “What are you looking for?” “I can’t tell you but you’d know if you saw it.” What they seem to find is a number of old cans and bottles. But they have turned over the leaf litter and pine needles thoroughly, which the squirrels and pigeons appreciate. The goats are pushing through the thick gorse brakes on the cliff face. A good sort of place to toss something illegal that you didn’t want the police to find, especially if you were running fast and couldn’t stop. The breeze is chilly, the sun is warm. So the day see-saws onward into the afternoon.
#Bournemouth #WestCliffgreen #Summer #August
From August 5th 2021
Between the downpours of rain the wind pummels and buffets under a leaden sky. Out in the bay a little white sail bounces gamely on between the big white horses. The beach is empty save for small parties of gulls who crouch hunched and immobile facing into the storm. Three crows stand on three fence posts sheltering behind the cliff top bushes. There seems to be something raggedly menacing about them. At the foot of the cliff a kite has caught in a tree. Its brightly coloured tail still streams out like a miniature rainbow against the grey. Walking back I see the three crows have been joined by two others. Five crows on five posts clearly is some ominous portent.
From August 5th 2013
A group of 43 middle aged people with umbrellas have just walked by my window on their way to the West Cliff. Could they be a party of lemming impersonators about to throw themselves over? Are they going to perform some complicated Tai Chi? Remake "Singing in the Rain"? Are they all going to be able to fit on the two person bench overlooking the sea?
Three middle aged men with baby buggies and a gaggle of eight children go by. The sun peeps out briefly.There are still purple clouds out in the Channel.
From August 5th 2011
Men in ill fitting suits and wifely tied ties. Women with inappropriate pieces of featherage on their heads and tiny strappy things on their feet. Rollies being rolled. Some sort of wedding event trailing down the street from the hotel to the clifftop. Hope there are no regrets so soon.
August 4th
The clouds push and shove across the blue sky in heaps and pillows. There are Teddy Bears, Snow men and jousting knights. There is a camel backed by a weasel and something resembling a whale. Very like a Whale.
The clouds push and shove across the blue sky in heaps and pillows. There are Teddy Bears, Snow men and jousting knights. There is a camel backed by a weasel and something resembling a whale. Very like a Whale. Strange how the great white piles and puffs are so transitory. So insubstantial and yet there are quite clearly the same pictures that Hamlet and Polonius could see all those years ago. A summer day like so many others, warm but with a sea breeze enough to keep the air fresh. The sea quite calm and the beach, not crowded, but filled comfortably and the general hum and little screams of delighted children. But sit quite still and as well as watching the clouds there are the little sounds of the Green. Little slap slaps of flip flops on the path. The sound of the wheels of a walking frame. Even a few chirrups and twitters as the birds begin to find their voices again after the summer lay off. And when the sun manages to emerge from the cloud show, there is gentle warmth. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #Summer #August.
From August 4th 2021
The dawn is sharp and cold. There's a north-easterly airstream coming directly from the arctic. But as soon as the sun bursts through the murk the temperature climbs rapidly. The sea is flat and calm as though dreaming of more exciting, stormy days. The year seems to be on pause again.
August 3rd
A fine, misty drizzle fills the dawn air. It is not rain, as such, but it gathers on the leaves of the trees enough to patter down in big drops when walking under the pines and holm oaks.
A fine, misty drizzle fills the dawn air. It is not rain, as such, but it gathers on the leaves of the trees enough to patter down in big drops when walking under the pines and holm oaks. Pigeons and crows scout for places where they might be able to drink. This is of more use to plants than a heavy down pour which would just run off the hard baked ground and disappear down the chines to the sea. But it will take several days for this moisture to soak down to the roots of the plants a rescue much of the wild life for which this may already be too late. The bay is closed off by the mist and the waves are driven onshore by a fresh breeze. A trail of footprints across the sand show where someone has ventured into the water for an early morning dip. Two runners reach the top of the zig-zag. Their T-shirts are soaked through but whether from the drizzle or their sweat it is hard to tell. Dog walkers and and saunterers step cheerfully: “Just what we need,” they say. The voices of the gulls from far away inland. Pigeons coo. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #August #Summer.
From August 3rd 2013
An afternoon of visual delight in Bournemouth. Walking back over the west Cliff with the whole of Poole bay below from Old Harry to Hengistbury Head. The hills of Purbeck stretching out a protective arm to the west against the warm breeze. The white and grey clouds sending pools of violet shadow skittering across the wrinkled silver green sea. And the whole ringed with the seemingly unbroken pale strip of sand from Studland to Southbourne with its cavalier fringe of restless white surf.
From August 3rd 2011
The pine tree is leaning as in a Chinese painting, silhouetted against a sea that is dancing with little flashes of light. The late morning sun beams down lazily. And now off to the beach. The sea is blue. The sand is hot and golden. Good Lord is there nothing better I could be doing?
August 2nd
The monotonous, flat grey sky, the humid air, and the stiff breeze has become the distinctive features of this summer. Visitors are still braving the lumpy waves and the blowing sand but by mid afternoon a steady caravan of families laden with windbreaks, collapsible chairs, bulging bags and buckets and spades is wending its way up the steps away from the beach. A woman sys “It’s cold, I had to put my cardi on.” And still the green is in stasis with no rain again. The only patch of colour is a little area of purple and yellow sea asters which is suddenly visible because of the mowing yesterday. Magpies chatter. Pigeons coo. The breeze rattles the dry leaves. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #Summer #August
From August 2nd 2021
This strange year continues. Rolling grey skies and a tweak in the air this evening. But the sea is still calm and placid with a hint of mist wreathing the hills and the horizon. Apparently it's been a very good year for grass and farmers have been struggling to keep up with the forage crops. And that's true on the West Cliff. The grasses have put on a magnificent show and wave and nod gracefully in the breeze. But, looking back, every year is extraordinary and there have been gales and storms and tropical heat in different years at this time. Nothing is certain and never has been.
From August 2nd 2019
An Irish tenor seems to be singing Purple Rain from down on the beach. A small boat tries to slip the cordon and get just a little closer to the action. The police launch, blue light flashing, chases sedately and sends it back. A light flashes in Admiral's Walk. People's converversations are slow but urgent. The lights go off on the pier. Ready for this.... (The Fireworks on the pier)
August 1st
The summer has transformed from oven temperature heat at the beginning of July to humid grey heat for the last few weeks and now, ith the turn into August it seems as though the year has reached the drowsy heat of High Summer. The blue sky is braided with high, white streaks of cloud and the wind has become gentler and a little fresher.
The summer has transformed from oven temperature heat at the beginning of July to humid grey heat for the last few weeks and now, ith the turn into August it seems as though the year has reached the drowsy heat of High Summer. The blue sky is braided with high, white streaks of cloud and the wind has become gentler and a little fresher. But the heat continues to press up from the hard surfaces and from the bracken thickets. Occasional butterflies swirl. A red Admiral with the gorgeous scarlet markings and white eyespots. Although there was little for the mower out on the flat places last week, three mowers arrive to trim the verges where the long grass grows. This is a good time to do this, the seed is all set and needs spreading. At the same time it may reduce the places where a fire could begin. Out on the ruffled blue waters of the bay the Dorset Belle sets off from the pier for another trip round the bay. #Bournemouth #WestCliffgreen #Summer #August.
From August 1st 2021
A flat, grey, quiet sort of day. Humid but not hot. August, I suppose, counts as High Summer but I feel this year hasn't really got going. The grasses love it and have grown tall and strong with a myriad of pretty seed heads especially the delicate fescues. This evening, though, a fresh breeze ripples up the cliff from the sea and makes for a pleasant evening. Little pools of late sunlight break through and illuminate Studland and Old Harry and the hills beyond.
From August 1st 2011
I'm sitting here with the windows wide open. People chattering and laughing in the street. Cars pulling up going Boom-Boom-Boom.
July 31st
Another grey dawn with a brilliant silver band lighting up the bay to the East. But there is no sign of the sun although the day continues hot and humid and the strong breeze keeps most people from the beach. And then the clouds begin to darken in earnest and roll up to cover the whole sky. But still there is no rain. There is a downpour in the New Forest but it comes no nearer. And then towards the evening the wind drops and the clouds disperse. The long low rays of the evening sun illuminate the patchwork fields and hills of Purbeck across the bay. And as the shadows deepen, the tall buildings surrounding the Green are bathed in brilliant honey coloured light. The gulls seem far away out across the bay where the large waves are being enjoyed by a few evening swimmers. Every tree seems to contain a pigeon whose cooing joins together in a low vespers. Couple walk slowly hand in hand. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #July #Summer
From July 31st 2021
A uniform grey sky like cold lumpy porage but away to the east the newly risen sun breaks through just enough to cast a brilliant halo of light onto Hengistbury Head. The sea sways backwards and forwards sighing quietly to itself. A wren sings lustily from the depths of a clifftop bush. Two fledgling herring gulls, heads down in supplication and squeaking plaintively chase an adult for breakfast . She keeps flying up to keep just ahead of them.
July 30th
Before the row of flats (exclusive sea views) that line the upper edge of the West Cliff Green was a row of hotels, some grand, some grander ( sea bathing nearby) and before them in the mid nineteenth century a dignified row of Gentleman’s Residences. (Healthful sea breezes and pine walks).
Before the row of flats (exclusive sea views) that line the upper edge of the West Cliff Green was a row of hotels, some grand, some grander ( sea bathing nearby) and before them in the mid nineteenth century a dignified row of Gentleman’s Residences. (Healthful sea breezes and pine walks). That was when the pines were first planted on the unpromising scrubland and Durley Gardens actually contained gardens. And that was why there are so many garden escape plants which pop up in unexpected places. Today there is a large vine with its big flat palmate leaves twining through a hedge by the low wall. No grapes, though. The rhododendrons (more escapes) are heavy with green fruit capsules. The blackberries (those with white flowers native; pink flowered Himalayan, probably escapees) are weighed down with fruit. Strangely they carry flowers, green berries, pink fruit, red berries and blackberries all at the same time. The sky continues broken grey with a strong breeze stirring up the waves. The air is hot and humid and still no sign of rain. The dogs from the Waggy Tails Club are too exhausted to explore and lie, flattened, in the shade, tongues hanging out. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #July #Summer
From July 30th 2021
The wind is beginning to drop by the afternoon but the big layers of cloud are still scudding across the sky and the sea has a distinct frothy edge to it. By the path the magnificent mugwort plant is chest high. There are all sorts of folk myths about healing properties and about the derivation of the name. Meanwhile, its raggedy leaves show their brilliant silver undersides as it dances in the breeze. It's covered with thousands of minute red brown flowers that the casual observer might miss.
July 29th
A clear blue sky splashed with white as if from a careless decorator’s bucket. A slight breeze keeps the little waves in motion. They scintillate and wink in the morning sun as early bathers bob about.
A clear blue sky splashed with white as if from a careless decorator’s bucket. A slight breeze keeps the little waves in motion. They scintillate and wink in the morning sun as early bathers bob about. A tractor criss crosses the green towing the big mower, But to no effect. The grass is white and has not grown since the last visit. In fact there are large bare areas of hard, dusty mud where the grass has retreated entirely. In some of these tough green shoots of prickly gorse are growing. Perhaps the mower halts their progress enough. Otherwise the green would very quickly be covered in scrub. By afternoon, the sky has been polished down to an unblemished blue. It is very hot. Sunworshippers lie at all angles, as if where they fell and couldn’t rise again. Shadows of gulls glide silently across their bodies . A big concrete pump from the old Hotel Riviera site arches triumphantly up and across the blue in orange and yellow splendour. Plalanxes of cyclists clog the paths forcing walkers to stand to one side. A skateboarder weaves along with the sort of insouciance that keeps him cool. A small black and white dog on its afternoon walk is wagging its tailwith such exuberance that it might fall off at any moment. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #July #Summer.
From July 29th 2021
An anxious wind and a restless sea. A flat grey sky. Little amber beads of light winking on along the prom and pools of orange light along the path. But where it is sheltered, the air is warm and thick with the scent of honeysuckle.
From July 29th 2018
Holy Moly, it's blowing a hooley. After all that hot weather it's blowing a cool-y. A sad enough end for a heatwave in Jooly. But maybe in August it'll come back a newly
July 28th
The sunlight dapples through the branches of the tall, dark pines. The sounds of the day are soaked up by the carpet of pine needles and leaf litter. This time of year the birds are mostly silent except for the crows which are just finding their voices again after the summer lay off.
The sunlight dapples through the branches of the tall, dark pines. The sounds of the day are soaked up by the carpet of pine needles and leaf litter. This time of year the birds are mostly silent except for the crows which are just finding their voices again after the summer lay off. Magpies squawk and squabble. The feet of the squirrels rattle as they run up and down the trees. And, on the breeze, is the sound of the waves. The sea is rough enough today and the wind is strong from the South East. Children on the beach enjoy the bumptious waves and their little screams of delight fill the air. It is warm enough for the beach to be well populated. The only flowers left standing are the hardy, yellow members of the daisy family which are annoyingly similar and should better all be classified as dandelions and thistles. The tufts of down from these fill the hedgerows. Pigeons coo. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #July #summer.
July 28th 2021
Wind and whitecaps. Clumps of grey cloud. In the distance the Purbeck Hills are in bright sunshine. The strong evening sunshine is casting long, dark shadows across the beach where the wind has rasped the sand smooth and whipped up little dancing devils on the prom. The sky is still an unsullied blue and the big, white capped waves are a deep glassy turquoise. A baby gull lit by the peachy sun peeps plaintively from the roof of a neighbouring block.
July 28th 2011
The water was lovely. Clear and calm. The sun shone. The sand was golden. Coffee at the beach cafe and then on my way to a cooked brunch. A fisherman rows steadily along his lines followed by a small crowd of gulls. Customers will already be waiting on the beach. A warm glow to the day already. I think it’s going to be good.
July 27th
The sky changes as the day progresses. At first as lumpy as a cobbled pub courtyard, then filmy and ragged as Miss Havisham’s wedding dress and, by the evening, a true mackerel sky.
The sky changes as the day progresses. At first as lumpy as a cobbled pub courtyard, then filmy and ragged as Miss Havisham’s wedding dress and, by the evening, a true mackerel sky. In between, tiny cracks and rivulets of blue before the sun bursts through for the last hour of the day. A strong breeze continues but it is humidly warm and many people are taking advantage of the beach and the little waves. Jetskis chainsaw back and forth across the bay and perform little figures around the end of the pier. But the Green continues rainless. A few deciduous trees have leaves browning at the edges but where they remain green they have a dull, dusty appearance. Even the leaves of the rhododendrons have lost their lustre and hang limp and flaccid. Gulls bleat as they shuffle about on the rooftops waiting for someone to appear with titbits. The crows are well into their moult and are unusually brown and scruffy. The pigeons care for nothing except busily pecking at the dry grass. The sweet pea pods are fattening up. People meeting on the clifftop benches talk in soft whispers. #Bournemouth #Westcliffgreen #July #Summer #Drought
From July 27th 2021
A chilly wind, lumpy grey sky and a raggedy rubbly sea. Occasional patters of rain. The Purbeck hills are shrouded in mist but a stripe of brilliant silver runs across the bay where the sun is making a last effort to light the day.
July 26th
The grey dawn is the time for the keepfit and wellness chasers even before the dog walkers get going. Two big men are lying on yoga mats rockingtheir knees from side to side in a languidly impatient way as they might do if their mothers had told them they have to wait half an hour until breakfast is ready.
The grey dawn is the time for the keepfit and wellness chasers even before the dog walkers get going. Two big men are lying on yoga mats rockingtheir knees from side to side in a languidly impatient way as they might do if their mothers had told them they have to wait half an hour until breakfast is ready. On the beach two more have brought arm loads of equipment to the tides edge. One is wobbling a big anaconda up and down and the other is lifting a barbell above his head. Is it an optical illusion or does the colour of the sea actually darken from slate grey to dark charcoal as it nears the bright band of the horizon? Two fishing boats are far out on the bay, their high intensity night lights still gleaming bright. At the tides edge the sea continually pushes and pulls at the sand like a very indecisive fengshui practitioner. The two guys on the beach are packing up and carrying their kit home. The one with the barbell has it tucked under his arm as if it were a clown prop with balloons instead of weights. There is virtually no litter this morning, the gulls have left the stuffed rubbish bins quite alone. The night’s haul at the shelter is an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, One of Pinot Grigio and a litre bottle of Jagermeister. A couple in grey running gear pause to look at them. “That lot would definitely make me sick” she says as if weighing the possibility and they jog on. Magpies chatter, pigeons coo. The first dog walker appears. #Bournemouth #Westcliffgreen #july #summer
and from this date last year
July 26th 2021
The breeze ruffles the prviously tranquil sea. The flags on the Lifeguards' hut streams out stiffly. A little flurry of white sails zig zag across the bay. A light patter of rain comes to nothing but further down the coast the sky is black and jagged with lightning. As the summer deepens the background chorus of birds quietens but there is alsways one to brighten the scene. Today is the Coal Tit peeping and twiddling hidden in the dark branches of an old pine tree.
July 25th
The old pine seems to sag under the weight of the summer day. A lumpy grey eiderdown stretches from horizon to horizon. The air is warm and humid.
The old pine seems to sag under the weight of the summer day. A lumpy grey eiderdown stretches from horizon to horizon. The air is warm and humid. The wind is strong and blustery at times. The silver green sea is furrowed and anxious. Yesterday there was quite a noticeable rain shower a couple of miles along the bay and today a heavy curtain makes its way from the west. But on the Green there is nothing more than a one or two tantalizing drops in the air. The visitors on the beach are well spread out. Only desultory activity on the clifftop. A couple of lads kick a ball backwards and forwards half heartedly. But a younger boy is sprinting up and down the hard, open ground. Where the fire burnt only a couple of days ago, the blackened earth is already covered with leaf litter and pine needles. The crows are in their autumn moult and look ragged and brown. Magpies chatter from somewhere above. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #July #Summer
July 25th 2021
A thin, grey hazy evening. No breeze and still humid. The tranquil sea lands on the shore with a respectful Hush. A few small groups enjoy the peaceful evening on the beach. Distant voices carry. A dog barks. Seagulls wheel. On the cliff side, groves of feathery tamarisk add a mediterranean feel.
July 24th
It is just the afternoon for saunterers and amblers on the West Cliff Green. It seems to be what Sunday afternoon is for.
It is just the afternoon for saunterers and amblers on the West Cliff Green. It seems to be what Sunday afternoon is for. Visitors of a certain age in their twos or threes, couples with their baby buggies, men who just stop and stare into the distance leaning on the Clifftop rail. The earlier grey clouds have blown away still with no sign of rain. The wind is brisk and blustery. The sea is full of nervous excitement and, although the beach is much emptier than might be expected on a warm July weekend, those who venture out from behind their windbreaks are enjoying bumping and bobbing in the waves. The red and yellow life guards’ flags stand out from their poles. Only the European Blue Flag is missing. In the dappled light beneath the pines a couple with a buggy have spread out a blanket and are playing with their baby. The wind blows through the pine tops above them with a deep, soothing roar. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #July #summer
And from 2019
The wind is hot as soon as I step out into the darkness. I have been following the storm across the channel and I want to see if I can get some footage. The sea is fretting and restless and makes too much noise to hear the distant thunder but the sky is lit up with almost continuous flashes from behind the clouds on all sides. As the storm nears a dull rumble can be heard above the waves. Now it is louder but there are no great claps, just the distant bougbouration. The grumbling bellies of a whole herd of mastodons heard across the tundra. And then the warm rain, the drops as big as those proper pennies we used to spend at Mrs Rosier's sweet shop on chocolate and pear drops And obeying the first rule of valour I sprint for home before the rain lashes down in torrents.. (By the way, I know the medical term is "borborygmus" but I like my word anyway.)