21st September from the Westbourne Green, Bournemouth

A lazy, warm afternoonwith the merest hint of a fresh breeze to make the tranquil sea shiver in delight. Wrens and gold finches twitter and chortle from the depths of the old Scots Pine. A robin flies out and shows its matery of the cheery song from a nearby fence. The man who sleeps in the shelter shows how he has befriended the pigeons who take food from his hands. He encourages one to jump up onto his head.

Clouds of large white butterflies flit among the dried grasses and brown seed heads sometimes taking time out to joust with others, spiralling up into the blue sky before settling down to continue with the day’s work. A crow surveys all from the top of a lamp post. He knows he is in charge and tells the world so.

From 21st September 2021

The sun sets in a mass of streaks and golden jumble leaving smudges and trails of pink in the West. Meanwhile the harvest moon climbs up in the east, her face diffused by a thin veil of ice crystal clouds. A raft of seagulls have settled on the sea close inshore diving and squabbling over a run of sand eels.As our part of the world darkens a couple of fishing boats purr across the bay towards harbour while others ride out on dark horizon, their high intensitry lights piercing the blackness.

From 21st September 2015

Drizzle hangs in the air. A grey blanket of cloud muffles the sky apart from a bright leaking of dawn light over the horizon to the south and west which throws the Isle of Wight into sullen relief. In the other direction, fingers of rain creep down over the Purbeck Hills towards the bay. A woman swims out and back from the beach below. She has the whole seven miles of golden sands to herself. The clifftop is the domain of pigeons and magpies save for the occasional Liberal or two , anoraks hunched disconsolately to the world as if wondering what is to become of them.

20th September from the WestCliff Green, Bournemouth

The evening sun slips down from under the grey clouds towards the horizon. People always seem quiet and respectful at the sight. A lad stands on a small pillar to get a better view of the evening. Gulls stand about hoping there might be a little something for supper. Evening walkers pause to see if Mick the Gull man will appear. From the bushes there are all manner of twitterings as the small birds settle down for the night, calling to one another like the ending of an episode of the Waltons. All is well.

From 20th September 2021

A clear blue sky of an intensity we haven't seen for weeks. Just a few wisps and tails of white cloud low down on the horizon to the south and west. A nippy little breeze brushes the flat sea into a field of a thousand glittering, dancing stars. The fisherman has rowed far out into the bay to shoot his nets and completes a tranquil picture. Everything seems refreshed and invigorated suddenly, the birds are singing and the hotels and apartment blocks stand out sharply against the blue. There seems to be excitement and anticipation in the air as the year turns.

From 20th September 2015

The sun rising into a blue sky peppered with grey and white clouds. The water dazzles silver. Across the bay a curious low white stripe of fog crawls out of the harbour mouth and follows the Swash Channel out beyond Old Harry. From the harbour itself is the muffled, antediluvian sound of ships' and boats' hooters sounding like mother mastodons calling their calves.

19th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The West Cliff Green exists at the meeting point of sea and land and, particularly, sky. Whatever the state of the weather or the season of the year, there are almost always clouds in sky above the Green. Today they are particularly impressive, swirling and ballooning above the bay. A watcher with no particular expertise can see many different types all at once and all stacked and layered high above. Sometimes it is the sea that draws the eye. Today all eyes are drawn upwards. The mood is sombre and quiet but the clouds above are full of exuberant life.

Clouds above the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

From September 19th 2021

A flat grey day. A little drizzle this morning. Two, no three, curtains of rain hang on the far horizon. Where the bright sunlight forces its way through the cloud it casts curious pale blue parallel stripes on the purple grey wavelets. Last night someone saw the deer on the West Cliff again. It is clearly a resident here. This evening the clouds are high enough above the horizon to reveal a pale sky fading through green to straw to a delicate rose where the shimmering brilliance of Venus hangs.

From September 19th 2013

There's a nasty squall blowin' up from the South West capn'n. We'll all be visitin' Davy Jones locker today if we bain't careful. Haul in the Royal T'Gallant.

18th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Another one of those late summer days with chilly evenings and warm afternoons. A brisk cross breeze ripples the calm sea fist one way and then the other. It has been a long summer and the West Cliff Green has seen drought and fire. But the one thing that the natural world teaches is that it will always want to grow again.

Where there were bare patches of dusty earth, green shoots are appearing and where the fire raged, the blackened bushes push out new leaves and pine needles begin a new layer of mulch. Whatever happens in terms of climate change or of war or tragedy, the green leaves will always force themselves up towards the sun. The new world may not be comfortable for humankind and may be very different but green plants can’t help but grow and nature will continue.

From 18th September 2021

Beautiful warm afternoon with a choppy sea but still ideal for swimming. But the shadows begin to creep across the beach from late afternoon so we have to hurry back up the cliff before it becomes chilly. Not much sign of autumn leaf fall yet except where the grass is littered with what looks like white feathers. They are the pale dry leaves of holm oaks.

From 18th September 2018

I can hear the yap-yapping from quite a distance. "Someone is not best pleased" I think. As I round the corner of the cliff path I see the originator of the unhappiness. A small - very small - hairy object not much bigger than a rabbit, "Yap yap yappity yap" it goes. A man stands hunched some distance away. "Someone's not happy." I say. The man nods towards the vertiginous cliff where there is no fence. "He's lost his ball." I gaze down the cliff face where a middle aged woman is clinging on for dear life whilst scrabbling through the undergrowth. "Yap yap, Left a bit, no, the other side of the brambles." The man looks at the tiny mutt. "You should be looking for this yourself. You lost it." The dog pauses and gives the man a withering look "Not my job" it barks. "What do I keep you for?" The man shrugs and stumbles down the slope to join his wife. The small beast continues to give orders from the clifftop "You haven't looked in the middle of that gorse bush. Yes, right in the middle. Go on. Don't be such a pair of wusses." As I pass on away down the path I can still hear him directing operations until his commands fade with the distance.

From 18th September 2011

There is no wind. The rain falls straight down. The cars shine in the grey morning light.

17th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

A cold night, feeling only just above freezing. But a brilliant light from the gibbous moon meanst that there wass enough illumination for a game of football during the early hours. The sun rose to a clear, if chilly morning and a warm drowsy afternoon. If there is one thing such a day is good for, it is reading. Although there are many strenuous uses of the Green, reading is still high on the list of what people come for and there is usually one or two readers to be spotted about the place. Today, a large, pink umbrella provides shade from the intrusive sun.

Reading on the West Cliff Green

From 17th September 2021

This year may have been a bit of a disappointment weather wise. A miserable winter, late spring and almost non-existent summer. But autumn is almost as expected. A series of misty mornings, hot and sunny afternoons and clear but chilly evenings with swipes of pink cloud to the west as the sun sets. The sea is sharply ruffled and the little flags on the fisherman's floats bob and dance in the crisp on-shore evening breeze. And after the summer silence, the birds have begun singing again. Not the full blooded variety of the spring dawn chorus but enough wrens, robins and blackbirds to cheer the way-side bushes.

From 17th September 2018

I can see the lights on the Isle of Wight crystal clear. The masts at Chillerton and Rowridge and from the Needles right down to St Catherine's light. Mark my words well, me hearties. There's a big Sou' westerly on it's way. Take in a few reefs and batten down well. Sail safe.

16th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The blue sky is decorated with tufts of white cloud that swell up as the day progresses into big eiderdowns that clothe the heavens completely from time to time. A little breeze is fresh but, on the whole, the day is still warm. The sea shimmers and is almost completely flat but a hidden swell makes itself known in the last few metres off shore enough to make a satisfying little wave.

Poole Bay from West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Little drifts of swallows and martins are still hawking along the cliff. Pigeons peck at the grass as industriously as ever. They always seem to be busy and never stopping to consider what’s going on around.

From 16th September 2021

I've spent the morning being overly polite to dogs. "No I don't have anything to eat, thank you." And "if you're going to dribble all over me, then I'm afraid we're not going to be friends."

15th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Even though it is a grey morning, the sky is bright enough to reflect a brilliant silver sheen from the placid sea. The colour has almost completely returned to the Green. By the afternoon the clouds are beginning to clear and the warmth is returning.

Identifying birds by their calls is a great more complicated than the manuals might suggest. Birds have many different calls for different occasions and at different times of the year. In the spring, blackbirds actually compose and rehearse their song, trying short phrases over and over and then trying them in different combinations. Birds will have alarm calls, feeding calls, different calls as juveniles and as adults. There are regional variations and, most confusing of all, many species pick up phrases from other birds to incorporate in the songs or deliberately imitate them. The crow family is particularly good at that. And will often imitate non avian sounds from their environment. Today, a crow perched on a lamp post is proudly making a sound that for all the world sounds like a stick stuck in the spokes of a rapidly spinning bike wheel.

Crow practising strange noises

From 15th September 2011

The palest of blue sky hazing into gold at the edge where the sea rises to meet it. Against this backdrop an intense autumn sunlight creates a stage set with the clifftop bushes and the black silhouette of the twisted pine. Something is about to happen. The flower beds in the Lower gardens are startlingly gorgeous today. Splashes of purple, magenta, orange and yellow against copper foliage. The plants have thrown off their summer formality and restraint and are enjoying the late summer sunshine like a coach party of old ladies showing us their knickers at the seaside.Colin fixed my window last night. Now I can hear the constant, moving susurration that is the sea at the foot of the cliffs. Restful but also a reminder that there is a big world out there.

14th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

A dismal, drizzly start to the day but suddenly there is a shower of swallows and martins plunging over the cliff and then careering backwards and forwards, dodging this way and that hawking for insects. Obviously just stopped over on their way south and enjoying the last chance to stoke up before their long journey ahead. Their sudden arrival heralds a new start to the day. The clouds break and the afternoon is as sunny and hot as any late summer day. The sea hugs the beach as if tailored to it. Neat little pleats of waves complete the effect.

Neat little pleated waves

As evening approaches the sun disappears behind the pines leaving a great orange splash across the western sky. Walkers on the cliff top path are bathed in a bright pink light. Young gulls stand expectantly awaiting their supper.

From 14th September 2021

A fine mist across the bay. The usual grey skies but not cold even with a fresh breeze. Moderate waves giving a reassuring thump and swash on the newly raked sand. While the seasons have been a bit of a mixed bag,with some bracken turning autumn brown a couple of weeks ago, over night rain and a warmish spell have kept the majority of the cliff top looking green. Although by now all flowers and grasses are now chocolate brown spikes except for the late evening primroses and odd wild carrot.

From 14th September 2015

The Bay is empty this morning. The sun is beating down off the water. Ships and boats seem to be sheltering. Are we expecting some weather? Only the vehicle carrier Autostar passes on the horizon en route for Santander

13th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

A flat, grey, drizzly sky. The waves make their way into the shore from the bay grumbling and sighing in a sort of passive aggressive manner. The distant hills loom through the mist. They always look much more massive on a day like this. And then the rain comes down with some enthusiasm.

But the green plants like nettles are lush and refreshed as they wake from the long summer sleep. Small birds twitter from the branches. Everything seems to be alive again. Pigeons coo and make amorous advances to one another.

From 13th September 2021

The paths under the trees around the West Cliff are littered with the spikey cases of the Sweet Chestnut. But they can't be quite ripe yet and we haven't had any gales to drive them down so what is happening? On quiet country roads I've seen sqirrels deliberately dropping chestnut cases in front of cars. The case is crushed and the squirrels rush down and get to the chestnuts inside without getting their noses spiked. I guess that's what's happening here and the squirrels are hoping to get passers by to crush them open with their feet. The only problem I saw with the car trick was that by now the squirrels have put on so much weight that they can't run as fast as they think they can and get squashed by the same cars that are providing them with supper. This same weight gain sees once nimble squirrels falling from the trees as they misjudge their ability to hop about as they once could.

From September 13th 2019

The young man dances on ahead eager to show the woman where the path lies. She glides on high heels and is in her prime. They have gone ahead of the others and are already lost in the glow of sunset. The crabby old man follows the jovial fellow with the stripey jumper. He drags along sullenly three fists behind and is making no attempt to catch up. Through the black branches of the Scots pine I can see the girl with flowers in her hair as she carries the last sheaf of summer out across the bay, her path dissolving before her from purest gold to brightest silver.

From September 13th 2016

That's a lot of thunder and lightning lurking off Durlston.2) Sound of distant thunder almost continuous. Huge jags of lightning over the Purbeck Hills. Solid grey sky. And large thundery drops of rain start to fall. People seem still to be toughing out on the beach.3) Individual strokes of thunder begin to crack and growl against the background rumble as the storm draws closer. The rain is now continuous and the grey massing sky is a flash flash flash with no pause.4) The storm front now right across Poole Bay. Enormous blue flashes punching into the sea.5) Prodigious sheets of water deluging down turning footpaths into streams, then rivers, then torrents. Roads and carparks under inches of water in a matter of minutes. Still the flash flash flash and racket of the storm.6) I can hardly see across the street the rain is so heavy. Oh no, my glasses have steamed up.7) The rain cascades down with renewed vigour as if in a desperate attempt to shower away the dirt of the world. "Out damn'd spot. Out I say". Still the thunder crackles overhead.8) I think that's it for the storm reports. Sounds of fire engines going to deal with flooding. Sympathy if that's you.9) More storms brewing down Will's Mum's way.

12th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The sun comes through a layer of bubbly grey cloud. It is late summer warm but all day the sun is veiled by thin high layers which casts a peculiar subdued light on the day. The smooth, almost flat sea is a strange tawny colour. The shadows are muted. Many little fishing boats dot the bay, making good use of the calm weather and the spring tides. Crows croak from the tree tops. A large white butterfly flits from flower to flower. In several places soft downy pigeon feathers are stuck in the fence wire.

From September 12th 2019

From where I am, I can see the boundaries that define the world. The cliff edge where the sky meets the land, the tide-line where the land meets the sea and the horizon where the sea meets the sky. And on occasions the strict cloud edge where a weather front move up channel. These are sharp, definite delineations. Thresholds over which the elements may only stray with catastrophic consequences. Our perception is drawn by edges. We focus on edges and our brains fill in the rest of the view with smudges and hazy awareness. The horizon is the only straight edge in nature and it provides endless fascination. it takes movement across an edge to show us something we ought to pay attention to, perhaps the distant sail of a Viking raider. So these big unbroken edges become regular and somehow reassuring. We are defined by edges. We divide up our lives with precision looking for the exact moments where summer becomes autumn, or one life ends and another begins. We are here and then there.Where edges become difficult to discern we become alert, trying to pick out the movements of something we should pay attention to. Trying to interpret meaning from an edgeless world. Among the pine trees we cannot tell whether that shadow is a sun dapple or the movement of something dangerous. Our need to define edges and the stripes of a tiger represent a battle for supremacy that has continued for tens of thousands of generations. And even among friends this need to perceive edges and thresholds can lead to disputations and civil wars. Sometimes it may be better to pause and examine the smudgy, hazy world between the battle lines and understand that the demarcations between us are only a trick of perception and that not all our fears turn out to be tigers.

From September 12th 2018

When the wind's in that direction and there's cloud cover to reflect the sound (as today) the boom of the tank guns and the chatter of the tracer fire from the Lulworth Ranges can be heard quite clearly in Bournemouth. As with many things, Thomas Hardy heard it first many years ago. (Channel Firing)

From September 12th 2017

We're only on the edge of Storm Aileen here but the tempest is terrific. The sea is clawing and spitting like an angry tiger. The clifftop trees are whipping and lashing casting weird dancing shadows in the little patches of street lights. I am leaning against the wind and sometimes the gusts punch the air out of my lungs. The noise is tremendous. I feel warm and dry inside my storm coat but my trousers are wet and clinging to my legs. I can only look down at a few inches of path in front of me and let my hood take the battering from the steely rain. Then the SAR helicopter thrashes past and into the blackness. I think: "There are some courageous men and women in the world." And then: "Some poor bastard is out there..."

11th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Whilst most people were fast asleep the Event was under way. Competitors scurried hither and yon riding push bikes, running up and down and swimming backwards and forwards. Big wire and steel enclosures had been built and a rag tag fringe of wellness stalls had been erected. Spectators wandered about in an uncoordinated way.

And then by lunch time the banners and fences have been dismantled and everything packed away leaving the green to a pleasant unhurried sort of day. The sky is blue criss crossed with filaments of white cloud. The shadows lengthen. A fresh, warm little breeze springs up. Out on the bay where the sea is puckered and crumpled, fishing boats catch the last of the sun.s rays. Long shadows are cast along the paths. Couples saunter. Gulls swoop and glide. A perfect late summer evening.

From September 11th 2021

It's been a day of three halves: Grey and cloudy, then bright and warm, now deeply gloomy again as the sun and the clouds chase each other across the sky. Meanwhile the West Cliff has divided itself in three with a large sporting event surrounded by high wire fences enclosing some sort of arena at one end while the Wanderers and the Waggy Tail Walkers take the other pretending to ignore what is happening . The sporting event itself also appears to be comprised of three parts. Running about, riding up and down on push-bikes and then having a bit of a swim. I shall not be participating. Later: The clouds scramble aside briefly to reveal a fat golden slice of moon which make a rumpled silk golden path across the bay towards the fat golden land of Sandbanks. And then the clouds slide back and the moment is gone.

From September 11th 2012

5.00 and there's screaming from the end of the road. No, not that sort of screaming, I decide, sticking my head out the window. Just full bore drunken exuberance. Not many years ago this area would have been populated with crusty old colonels and delicate ladies of a certain age. I wonder what they would have thought.

10th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

For the first time there is the slight odour of Autumn in the air. The thick mat of pine needles are damp and exude that sort of sharp, warm smell. Green cones have fallen from the high branches.

Some have been nibbled bare by the squirrels. Voices float down on the still, afternoon air from the balconies of nearby flats. The rippled silver sea is on its long journey out for the Spring tide. Our plastic lavatories have some context now as the wire pens for some sporting event is erected at one end of the Green.

Banners are draped and objects are inflated. It is unclear as to whether the high fencing is to prevent competitors from escaping or random passers-by from joining in the fun. Beneath the silent pines a solitary reader takes part in an altogether more cerebral happening.

From 10th September 2021

There's something strangely melancholy about a road or footpath at night brightly illuminated by street lamps but entirely empty of traffic of any sort. Tonight, with a covering of thick cloud and a speckle of rain, my way home seemed odly desolate as I passed from one honey coloured pool of light to another, the only person on the West Cliff.

From 10th September 2016

Between the grey banded sky And the grey lined sea The sun suddenly catches The General Cargo Carrier, Simone. Hard work and age have done her no favours But, for this moment, Simone is beautiful. As we all are given the right lighting conditions. There are two worlds that run alongside our own. One is where everything goes right and the other is where everything goes wrong. These two worlds are called "what would have happened if" and are entirely inhabited by bookies and hedge fund managers and writers. The rest of us live in the fuzzy liminal space in between. And because both of the "what would have happened if " would soon become hopelessly out of sync in a few minutes and would veer off out of sight till they crashed and burnt. As it is, nature resets our little space every so often and we can all start again doing things right and doing them wrong. And again. And again.

9th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Mostly steady rain interspersed with occasional dry spells and moments of downpour. The wind has dropped and the sea retreats far out at low tide leaving bright polished mirror areas of sand atthe tide’s edge where the occasional dog walker splashes long. The waves are long and low but course in steadily.

Ivy has regained a startling glossy green colour and a small patch of pink cyclamen reminds us of the approaching season change. it might be a garden escape but all waifs and strays are welcome on the West Cliff Green.

Two men have been renewing the warning signs about fires. Not the most unobtrusive sites but, then, I suppose that is the point.

The crow with the ragged wing perches uneasily on a post. It may not survive the winter.

From 9th September 2019

The strength of September comes from its strange, liminal feeling. Casting off the old year and not quite ready for the new. An odd mix and a sense of holding its breath and waiting for something else. Rain prickles my jacket and spots the path in front of me but not enough to make me quicken my steps. The sky is a felted, lumpy grey and the sea, while gentling swashing on the sand seems somehow restless and urgent. Above the clouds the overnight flights from Florida begin their long descent towards London. Pigeons coo as if trying to reclaim summer mornings and gulls machine gun half-heartedly from rooftop aerials.

8th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

When the sun shines from between the grey clouds it produces big silver puddles on the raggedy sea. And then the dark shadows from the clouds slide this way and that making a shimmering brocade scene. Gulls hurl themselves from the cliff top but then bank steeply back to land beside the pigeons standing hunched against the savage breeze.

A row of plastic lavatories have sprung up like autumn mushrooms in the shelter of the holm oaks. There appears to be no particular reason for this manifestation.

Many of the deciduous trees sacrificed leaves to the drought but with the return of the rains, the green is revived and gives an odd harlequin effect to the pedunculate oak.

From 8th September 2021

Streaks and bubbles of purple and charcoal clouds across the pale blue late evening sky. Elderly ladies pull their thin white cardigans tight against the brisk on-shore breeze. Two figures, each with a large carrier bag that clink loudly disappear into the trees. In the near dark couples whisper to each other on the clifftop benches as they must have done for generations past. From somewhere not too far away a tawny owl hoots. He is not answered by his mate.

From 8th September 2020

Betwixt and between. The air is still warm but there is a cool breeze. The sky is thick with grey clouds. The sea rustles on the flat sand. Our four ghost ships, cruise liners with nowhere to go, line up like isolated grey office blocks against the horizon. Soft voices and laughter from the cafe. A lone swimmer ploughs across the bay. We are all waiting.

7 th September from the Westcliff Green, Bournemouth

Sunshine and showers. But the showers are sudden, intense and almost spiteful. Caught in one there is nowhere to hide. Within minutes the horizon is blotted out and the rain streams down in a monsoon-like deluge. The drops hit the path and fountain up in white splashes well above shoe height. The leaves on the trees hiss and dance sending the water down onto the unwary passer-by looking for shelter. There is no shelter. Clothes and shoes are soaked through. The rain cascades in torrents along the path and puddles spread from nowhere across the path. And then when the storm is at its heaight, it gets worse, throwing Olympic Size swimming pools down with extraordinay violence. And then, as if by command of the weather Gods, it ceases. The wet world pauses and the sun emerges. And within another few minutes, the puddles recede and the path begins to dry out. Time to squelch home.

Sheltering under Holm Oaks.

From 7th Spetember 2021

The sun rises straight up into a cloudless dawn sky. It's light is diffused by the mist but still makes delicious shadows between the trees. The sea is calm but ruffled by a slight fresh breeze. Voices carry across the water from a group of early morning paddleboarders far out in the bay and a pair of swimmers closer in shore. The sand is pockmarked with the activity from yesterday. In the chiaroscuro it looks like some anciant battlefield. There is a distant sound - a mournful sigh redolent with the sadness of loss and disappointment - that I can't identify. As I walk further I realise it is the sound of the brakes on the refuse lorry as it goes slowly up and down the road.

6th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

After the storms last night with the monsoon like downpours and continuous lightning out on the bay, the morning sky is full of grey, grumbling clouds driven along by a stiff breeze that shakes the tree branches and whistles in the aerials on the flats. Deep grooves are worn in the beach where the deluge has cascaded own the chines. From time to time the sun manages a brief appearance and the tarmac on the path dries out quickly.

The wind has produced the very first prickly cases of the sweet chestnut. Probaly a little while before they ripen properly and start to fall of their own accord.

Someone from the council has fixed the rail on the steep steps leading down to the beach. One of the crows has a droopy wing. The other crows are still allowing it to be near them and it is still able to fly enough to get up onto a post out of most harm’s way. Watch this space for developments. A surprising sight is where a rose, laden with orange hips has pushed through the mass of brambles previously unnoticed.

From 6th September 2021

The rising sun casts long shadows ahead of me on the path. The air is still fresh but the temperature is warming quickly. An autumn mist softens the horizon. the sea is almost flat calm except for that glitter and shiver as the ripples catch the light. For some reason or other, one of the West Cliff Wanderers is wearing a shaggy orange wig. A little group is sheltering in the shade of a low pine tree. The wanderers wave as I pass. The one in the wig seems to think it behoves him to speak in French “Bonjour, mon ami” He shouts. “Comment ca va?”
Ca va, bien merci.” I shout back “Et toi?”
But that seems to have exhausted our Francophone abilities. He takes off the orange wig and passes to one of the others. Who decides not to pick up the baton of internationalism and settles back to doze.

5th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

It has been raining off and on all morning in short sharp showers. The paths are silver with puddles. But when the sun finally pushes through the knotted swags of grey cloud the rain is still pattering down. Sunshine and showers. What used to be called the Monkey’s Birthday. For a time the day is summer hot despite the little breeze. Shadows grow and then melt away as the sun moves off again. The Green is quiet after the weekend fun. A handful of dog walkers, amblers, strollers. One guy is sat on a bench reading giving the impression that the rain cannot intrude on his world. A woman props her bike against a bench a sits stretching her arms to cast off the strain of work.

Wild carrot seed heads are silhouetted against the sky. Here and There the grass is covered with the downy white feathers that pigeons have no further use for. The sea purrs like a friendly lion.

From 5th September 2021

By mid afternoon the skies have cleared somewhat and what was a humid, sultry day becomes a hot, humid sultry day. The sea laps gently against the sand but a heavy curtain of haar curtains the bay, giving a slightly claustrophobic feel. The Red Arrows play hide and seek in and out of the fog, Families stretch out across the grass and middle aged men with ridiculously long lensed cameras scan the skies anxiously, hoping for That Shot. The one that none of the other thousand or so photographers don't get. The Air Show crowd might get a little rowdy down near the pier where the beer tents are, but up here on the West Cliff, the crowd produces a soft murmur like that of a Test Match Crowd at Lord's. But let's not mention the cricket.

4th September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The green jagged waves are polished silver by the bright, grey sky. The surf races in from a long way off shore making a white lace edging to the whole bay. The wind is strong but the air is still warm and it still feels like summer.

Gradually the Green fills up with visitors. An ice cream van, litter pickers, everything for the delight of the passer by. The sun shines through a veil of white and casts a strange light over everything. The shadows are muted. Big clouds roll away to the West and East which might well mean sufdden downpours which don’t materialise.

And after everything is over, the clouds roll back, there is blue sky and we have the Green and the bay and the heaven above to ourselves again.

From 4th September 2021

Still billowing grey clouds and no sun but out of the wind the warmth comes up from the path and grass. The waves smooth and reassure the beach. A juvenile robin, still covered in spots, flies up onto the rail in front of me and cocks his head on one side as if trying to make sense of the mad world he finds himself in.

3rd September from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

On the whole visitors are quite respectful of the Green. There are those, of course, who will discard bottles and takeaway boxes where they sit but generally people will pick up and deposit in the litter bins. But this is where it can go wrong. The anti-social element are the sea gulls who will get into the mouth of the bin and haul out anything that looks tasty. And if the bins are full and visitors have thoughtfully tied their detritus in plastic bag, the gulls see it as their duty to rip the bags open and spread the contents far and wide. Tonight, as dusk is falling and visitors are still enjoying the warm evening the gulls are wheeling and crying in clouds above the bins. Today has been hazy and grey with a stiff breeze blowing and what the gulls have begun, nature will complete.

From September 3rd 2021

An unpromising start to the day with low, grey clouds and a sharp breeze. But by the afternoon it brightens up. As the clouds gradually drift away the sun appears out and the temperature rises. An autumn mist veils the horizon to remind us that summer is past. Children on the beach delight in the little green waves at the seas edge and grown ups stand and watch awe-struck by the Red Arrows and The RAF Typhoon, which finishes its display as it always wants to do by rocketing straight up into the vault of the blue until it is lost to sight.

From September 3rd 2017

A bracing Sunday afternoon stroll along the prom to Boscombe and back. In the drenching rain. And the howling gale. And the needlesharp sea spray. And the bitter cold. Apart from that, a jolly afternoon out. Now steaming quietly.

2nd September from the West Cliff Green

Every so often The Green becomes filled with excited visitors to some event or other. They sit on the benches or bring rugs or collapsible chairs and picnic. This weekend is the Airshow. The Green is a good place to watch but it is free from all the razzamatazz of the hucksters and fast food stalls on the other side of the pier. The planes roar and busy themselves about the sky whilst people enjoy themselves. Out in the bay, a flotilla of boats of all sizes position themselves in an orderly way around the exclusion zone. The gulls are startled into the air by the sound of the big jets but otherwise stooge around unconcerned by the invasion of their territory. This afternoon the grey morning cloud melts away and the planes are able to twinkle up and away into the great heaven above.

From 2nd September 2021

Grey with a cold wind this morning. Brief glimpses of wan sunshine this afternoon with the clouds just high enough for the Red Arrows to dodge about at low level. A branch from one of the big pines has cracked away and the tree surgeons have been there this afternoon making it safe. This time of year with the summer foliage still heavy on the branches and with the additional weight of autumn fruit (or in this case fir cones) large branches and even whole trees can crack and split.