30th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The waves, in hungry, unrelenting sheet after sheet of grey.
The rain rattles around the windows, smacking and dribbling down the glass. The sky has a muddy, unrelenting aspect to it. The branches are still for a moment and then arch and twist. Everything is in motion from the smallest, whippiest twigs to the big, groaning trunks. This is the day of trees and sky and rain and wind. Later, the sun struggles through, sickly, insipidly. There will be no warmth today. The waves, in hungry, unrelenting sheet after sheet of grey. Their musics are not dramatic and uplifting, not Fingal’s Caves or Sea Interludes, but something crawling and malign, there to show the dry world what will happen to it very soon.
From 30th December 2021
The wind howls through the pinetops. The waves hiss and roar. A large party of gulls is carried high on the updraught from the cliff face. The circle soundlessly with wings held in the stiff W shape we all know from children's picture books. Every so often, without appearing to move a feather, one will peel away from the group and bank down on the wind before spiralling on up again to ride the wind in absolute stillness.. For once they are silent as they circle and glide. They are not hunting or looking for food; they are doing this, dare I say, for the sheer pleasure of it. #bournemouth #WestCliff #december #winter
From 31st December 2020
Framed between the grey of the ilex tree and the dull brick of Grand marine Court, the dawn sky is a surprising palette of pastel shades. Pale blue, gold, lemon, pink and a hint of mauve and violet. Streaks of bright, silver cloud form strata of more colour. But the effect is not gaudy but cheerful and lucid. I am reminded, oddly, of a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The Age of Innocence of the Ladies Waldegrave, perhaps. The sun is, as yet, hidden by the bulk of the building opposite but it is already washing out the colours with is brilliance.
29th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Up, between the branches of the pines, the sky, whatever colour, is beatufully framed, as always.
Ice cream fresh and cold. A steady breeze. The sun comes and goes from between the little banks of clouds. The sea is expansive and churns up and down the beach. Up, between the branches of the pines, the sky, whatever colour, is beatufully framed, as always. Couples pass to and fro, smiling as they do, clinging to each others’ arms in their bright, new Christmas anoraks.
From 29th December 2021
A damp, misty afternoon. It would be silent apart from a squadron of gulls swirling and screeching overhead. A small wind slides them away over the tree tops, their voices diminishing with the distance. The waves continue sobbing steadily leaving tear-stains on the sand with the retreating tide. The lights on the promenade begin to prickle on through the gloom. There is a late afternoon chorus of small birds, robins, wrens, blackbirds. A mistle thrush rehearses parts of an old song; polishing it and smartening it for the spring. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #december
From 29th December 2016
The fourth day of Christmas is traditionally St Soupage day when all the left overs from the feasting are thrown into a great cauldron and boiled within an inch of their lives and then frozen in blocks to be resurrected in July. The story of St Soupage himself I will leave to your imaginations.
28th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sea is turning itself up for a last hurrah for the year and anyone venturing out has ventured back.
Rain slanting in darkly across the streetlamp. Clearing just enough before miday for a more open, colder, brisker day. The wind howls through the pine tops. The paths and clearings and strewn with the the little fans of Monterey Pine needles. The sea is turning itself up for a last hurrah for the year and anyone venturing out has ventured back.
From 28th December 2021
A roiling, raucous, rumbunctious wind, racketing through the tree branches, walkers bent double before its bumptious blast. The sea swell is big and menacing. Long slow heaps of water as though some great creature is about to break surface. Distant black veils of drizzle sweep in and past.
From 28th December 2020
The rain jitters on the silver pools of light from the street lamps. The surface of the road seems alive and to dance as if swarming with thousands of silver insects. I cannot see individual drops just this crinkling mass of tiny brilliant lights. The sparkling silver curtain falls steadily through the beam of the lights. The whole night seems to be alive.
From 28th December 2016
A cold sneeping wind ruffling the sea. A hat and glovesy sort of morning.
27th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Cold and damp and grey. If there’s not enough comforort in that why not spool back over the past twelve years record? And I’ve been keeping them here on my website since July. Plenty for everyone.
View fullsize
Cold and damp and grey. If there’s not enough comforort in that why not spool back over the past twelve years record? And I’ve been keeping them here on my website since July. Plenty for everyone.
From 27th December 2020
Great gouts of wind race and roar through the pine tops. The path is littered with the usual winter debris but there are also fresh branches strewing the way. Curtains of hard rain dance crazily in the streetlights but there are big areas of black standing water to trap the unwary walker in the darkness. The sea is throwing itself up the beach in an angry mess that stretches far out into the night. We have known bigger storms up here on the West Cliff; wind that literally knocked all the breath out of you and pushed you off your feet but Bella seems to be unmatched in her ferocity. Like an enraged child unable to find any other form of expression and throwing bricks about in a mighty tantrum. Her anger is formless and explosive. Within minutes I am soaked through and glad to be able to retreat inside.
26th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The air is bitingly cold but the sky clear with fluffy, good time clouds. There is a cat toying with the sun.
The air is bitingly cold but the sky clear with fluffy, good time clouds. There is a cat toying with the sun.
From the 26th December 2021
It has stopped raining. Huge slabs of grey cloud drift lazily across the sky and patches of blue begin to appear. A brilliant band of light across the horizon and dazzling pools appear out on the bay. The sun appears and for a few minutes it is as warm as an April afternoon. The distant hills are thrown into relief by alternating sun and shadow. The sea grumbles quietly to itself. Then it starts to rain again and everyone scurries for cover. #bournemouth #westcliff #december #winter
From 26th December 2020
I am shielded from the wind on this side of the building but I can see the force of the gale by the way the rain blasts horizontally through the beam of street light like silver tracer. The door thumps monotonously in a draught that has sneaked in through a skylight somewhere. It's good to be warm indoors.
From 26th December 2018
The sun always shines when we're at the beach hut. And on this Boxing Day morning here it comes. Swim later?
25th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The occasional raindrops are cool and refreshing and make goldfish mouths in the puddles.
The occasional raindrops are cool and refreshing and make goldfish mouths in the puddles. And, although it is cool and dark, the rain makes a change from the stickiness of the sick room, A woman say “Are you all right? I saw you wobbling about.” “I’ve been poorly for a few days and only just got up.” “I hope you didn’t mind.” “No, of course not, we all look out for each other on the West Cliff Green,” A young man crosses the path holding a very small dog and a pink umbrella over it. I gaze at the ocean and absorb its restful susurration before making my way home.
From 25th December 2021
It rained steadily all day. And although it was warm enough to walk with your coat unbottoned, the rain dictated othdrwise. The wind gusted fitfully and the sea roared and hissed. The evening dark seemed impenetrable and deep black puddles sprang up everywhere you were wont to walk. #bournemouth #westcliff #winter #december
Frm 25th December 2016
Christmas bumble bee on the Christmas Day mahonia. Merry Christmas little bee. Take the rest of the day off.
24th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
sure enough, down commes the rain in big square blocks. People dash by wielding big, black umbrellas.
That strange, lemon yellow light that comes before a storm darkens and, sure enough, down commes the rain in big square blocks. People dash by wielding big, black umbrellas. I have worked out this lighting effect is caused by the sun, low down, enough for some of its spectrum to reach under the cloud cover. It’s always beautiful. Do I regret not being out in this? Yes and no. I miss a last greeting to the wanderers and wayfarers, to the weight lifters and the waggy tail walkers. To the well ness instructors. The wild life watchers and the Wild life, and the walkers and, most of all, the wonderers. I hope they don’t feel I’ve cut them out.
From 24th December 2021
It rains and rains. The surf lands with a thump. A heavy cloak of mist draws the day in. Time to batten down and consider the inner world. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #December #winter
From 24th December 2017
Trudging through the frozen snow at daybreak I found the perfect little tree nearly overlooked under the big forest pines. I brought it into our little cottage stamping the snow off my boots and set it up in the window for everyone to see. Of course the Christmas Angel shouldn't take her place of honour till tonight but I thought you might like to see. Now to warm frozen fingers in front of a roaring fire with a tankard of Smoking Bishop and then see if I can find the old box of decorations. A Merry Christmas to you all.
From 24th December 2015
To the East I can see three lights tonight, Hurst Point, The Needles and St Catherine's Point. To the West I can see the red and green bobbing leading lights on the Swash Channel. Whatever guiding light you are following be safe. Merry Christmas to Bonita, Pollux, Novatrans, Susan. Just four of the hundreds of the vessels still working up and down Channel.
Listen! As the sound of the Christmas Eve traffic dies away you can hear the sea. Wherever you are, City, mountain top, desert, that quiet susurration you can hear reminds us that we all came from the sea. We all washed up here and in due course the water and chemicals that made us during our short stay here will leach back into the ocean where we belong.
From 24th December 2010
for all its tackiness, cheesiness, grumpiness, bad-temperedness, pushing-and-shovingness. for all iciness and loneliness and unneccessary expense, I love Christmas
23rd December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
And remember, there are people out the on the West Cliff that need help more than I do. We are a family. The afternoon light is deep and golden. A plane drones over head.
For the first time in the the last twelve years I have been unable to report from the West Cliff Green. There is no real reason, it is there outside my window, I have the strength of a wet dishrag, my knees just won’ t support out doors shenananigans. I have no idea how I made a post yestereday. Today I had planned to make a Christmas video but my eyes aren’t working. Everybody has been immensely kind and rallied round with more offers of help than I could ever use. You are beautiful,. The West Cliff Green is beautiful. Even the Orkestra is Beautiful. And remember, there are people out the on the West Cliff that need help more than I do. We are a family. The afternoon light is deep and golden. A plane drones over head. The redbrick of Grand Marine Court is warm and welcoming. The sea is soothing but the sky seems darker now.I hope I’ll be back with a Christmassy update tomorrow
From 23rd December 2021
A heavy mist veils the horizon. Grey clouds draw tight above and the drizzle continues on and off. Two wagtails balance on one of the benches and and the and throw themselves into the air as if enjoying the buffeting wind. A crow stands on the rail fixing me with its eye as I pass but tumbles off disdainfully as i stop to meet its gaze. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Decvember #Winter.
From December 23rd 2013
The storm rages outside. The sea is boiling. It fills every corner with its sound. On a night like this I can curl ip and read ancient copies of Wisden.
From 23rd December 2011
Dark layers of cloud hold back the dawn. A jogger shoulders through the stiff breeze at the water's edge . A sudden tear in the sky low down on the horizon lets through a pale gold light that stains the surf. I follow the jogger's footprints but they are soon smoothed away by the incoming tide.
22nd December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Walkers wonder what they’re going to do with their extra two minutes today,
A grey, damp, quiet day. Where the moisture sucks all the sound out of the air. It’s not exactly cold but little cold finger tips make their way up and down exposed skin. Everything is wringing wet. Moisture makes its way down the fissures in the tree bark and weighs down the grass. Walkers wonder what they’re going to do with their extra two minutes today,
From 22nd December 2020
At first, all I can see in the indigo darkness are details. An orange street light reflecting off the deeply fissured bark of a pine tree, still shiny wet from the rain storm. A cigarette packet at the side of the path. But gradually I am aware of that miraculous and surprisingly rapid transition from night into day. I pause to contemplate the greying sky where it meets the horizon and the rows of lights from our cruise liners (now down to two. They are beginning to spread out across the world again and the Allure of the Seas is already on her way to the Caribbean) I watch the surf turning over lazily, lacily as it emerges towards daylight. I am conscious of someone leaning on the rail about twenty metres away. A brief unspoken moment of sharing something grand. I say Good Morning and wander on.
21st December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The litter man is assiduous and caring. Without him and his deputy the West Cliff |Green would be in a sorry state. Merry Christmas to someone who makes our lives that much better.
A steady cold rain blotting out the distant horizon, although there is a pale light where the sun might break through. The litter picker has been and gone. There are the marks from the tyres of his pick up. The litter man is assiduous and caring. Without him and his deputy the West Cliff |Green would be in a sorry state. Merry Christmas to someone who makes our lives that much better.
From 21st December 2021
Creaking cold. A sharp, nipping wind rattles a couple of dried leaves along the path in front of me. The sea provides a steady, rushing continuo. No stars tonight but the big silver moon slides in and out of the grey slabs and drags of grey cloud. Distant voices sound hollow on the night air. A door slams. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #December #winter
From 21st December 2020
As soon as I step outside a cold rain prickles my face. The wind buffets me along the wet pavement. The trees, dark brown and black stride off into the grey mist. Underfoot swathes of big golden leaves deaden my steps. And everywhere, as deafening as a steel works, the sea roars. I am delighted by this weather. On the beach, the sand polished flat by the waves into an almost mirror shine, reflects the lone jogger as though he runs with a companion. It feels good to be part of all this. I am present in the weather. There is an is-ness about it all. I strongly recommend you put on your waterproofs and try it for yourself. You may not have the sea but you have shiny wet pavements, tall blocks emerging from the mist, the sound of the traffic. Enjoy the solstice as it is.
From 21st December 2013
Clearing out two shelves worth of empty jam jars. They never quite prove as useful as you think they might. But Marmite jars. You can't throw away Marmite jars, can you?
From 21st December 2009
(Not really West Cliff Green But, hey, you know…)
Big snow over the top of Creech and Steeple. Practically a blizzard covering the tracks of the car in front. More snow in Lulworth so came back via Stoborough. By Corfe Castle it was just sleety rain and a steady drizzle here in Swanage. All to Ravel's Bolero on Radio 3.
20th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The shadows are long and by midday the warmth is beginning to go out of the day. But there are people enjoying the day on the cliff top.
Someone is holding their vlogging camera so the view across the bay is behind them. It is a favourite with the on-line fraternity and sororiety. The swell is enormous and crashing onto the beach with a thump and a shatter of white foam. But the sun appears from the early morning clouds into a clear sky. And despite the fact that it is so low in the sky it provides some warmth to the fresh, breezy air. The shadows are long and by midday the warmth is beginning to go out of the day. But there are people enjoying the day on the cliff top. Three ladies, swaddled in dry robes and wearing brand new pom-pom hats are making their way down the zig zag towards the surf. They carry their necessary accoutrements in soft builders’ buckets. The gulls and crows look on in wonder.
From 20th December 2020
A debatable, unsure start to the day. Teenage angst or elderly confusion. A sharp breeze tells us it's December but the rolling misty rainy clouds wallowing across the bay from the Purbeck Hills speak of earlier, fatter days. A pale, sickly sun struggles to make itself known in a ragged break in the cloud banks. But overhead the sky is as pale blue as on a June morning and reflects brightly on the pavement puddles and the trickling streams in the gutters.
From 20th December 2010
frozen silver moon and million upon million of dancing snow crystals. the town is empty - only two taxis passed me on the way home. the hotel at the end of the road is holding a karaoke night. the singing seems flat and empt
19th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The crows stand along the rails viewing proceedings with jaundiced eye as though they were Senior masters standing on the touchline their tattered black gowns trailing behind them.
The trees are being thrashed about as by a particularly vicious school bully. The green waves throw themselves onto the sand in a raucus rough ruck. The crows stand along the rails viewing proceedings with jaundiced eye as though they were Senior masters standing on the touchline their tattered black gowns trailing behind them. The cold rain beats down incessantly. The puddles reflect the hard, grey sky and the grass is littered with the white leaves of the holm oaks. And in another part of the field a party of pigeons stand bemused. A squirrel sits on its haunches munching into an acorn.
From 19th December 2019
I can never think of the weather of dreary. But today is as close to the description that Charlotte Bronte makes of that “drear November day” on the opening page of Jane Eyre which she describes as “a pale blank of mist and cloud”. Squalls of rain beat up and down the street. Water runs down the windows in torrents. The whole day feels thick and leaden and the sea heaves itself into ugly surging wrinkles. And then, quite suddenly the sun lances down through the clouds and splashes on the red brick walls opposite and for a moment the rain and wind cease. The weather, always ready to surprise. Always there to delight.
From 19th December 2015
Ever since I've lived on the cliff top I've been trying to get word equivalents for the sound of the sea. The noise is hugely variable depending on the state of the tide, the angle the waves are coming into the beach and the effect of the storms far out in the Atlantic funnelled up the Channel. Earlier this week you could make out the individual thump of the short, steep breakers in the otherwise calm night air. Later, there was a hollow tumbling boom as the wind drove the waves flat on to the beach. Tonight with the wind ripping through the clifftop bushes and making its own din there is a single undifferentiated roar of pink noise. A solid wall of sound that Phil Spector would have been proud of.
From 19th December 2010
coffee drinkers sitting at tables outside. snow piling up on their woolly hats. the grey sea beyond
18th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
No-one sitting on the benches today.
The cold grey drizzle increases during the morning into an unceasing deluge. Rain water collects in the hollows and grows from puddles into ponds and on into lakes. The wind is still chill and blustery although it is coming from the south. The sea is broken and fretful and has an oily sheen to it. Gulls and crows are all hunkered down. Everywhere is plain wet and, unsurprisingly, no-one is making use of the benches. The only signs of enjoyment are with the wagtails who, seemingly oblivious of the weather, hop and bob with no-one to disturb them.
From 18th December 2021
The moon is as hard and sharp and polished as a newly minted fivepence piece hanging in a navy blue sky. To the west Jupiter is still bright. As I am looking a meteor streaks across it with a fiery trail lasting, maybe, a tenth of a second. The sea shuffles and grumbles like an old man who has been asked to move up and let someone else sit near the fire. The wind is cold tonight from the North East. A girl clings to the clifftop rail as I pass. She has been out learning to roller skate every night for the past week or two. "You're getting better." I say. "Yes, I'm trying." she says clinging on grimly. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #December #Winter.
18th December 2019
An intoxicating wake-up sharp breeze. A steel green sea raking in under a sky grey and mauve mottled like an old lady’s legs or the soft downy breast of a pigeon. A couple of crows are thrown out of the pinetops by the wind chuckling as they go.
Later
The rain is hurling itself horizontally across the streetlamp beam in a continuous spray of silver bullets. It rattles against the windows. In the darkness the parked cars seem to hunch down and the occasional walker crosses the pool of light curling in on themselves. The pretty white lights on a small Christmas Tree twinkle out bravely across the street. I can only think of those who don’t have the comfort of shelter that I do.
18th December 2013
The tempest is goading the surf into a mad tarantella of spit and spume. The noise is almost unbearable - a continual, continuous crashing rush underscored with that hair raising bass wailing. I tried to get down to the clifftop but I was driven back by the elemental forces that have the world to themselves tonight.
Later
Crag Hall where I live is a solid red brick edifice built to withstand several centuries' winter clifftop gales. It has robust modern double glazing. But tonight I can hear the walls fighting the wind that is thumping and buffeting and occasionally vibrating the whole building.
17th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Someone has paused to gaze at the wintery view and put their drink down and forgotten to pick it up again.
Someone has been playing noughts and crosses in the thick white frost on the clifftop path. But the wind has swung round to the South west; there is a warmer feel to the air and in a couple of hours the game has gone. But the wind is still rough and the bay is choppy and fretful. Gulls whirl in the air as the grey clouds begin to lumber across the sky. Pigeons and magpies have resumed their customary places in the bare top branches of trees. Someone has paused to gaze at the wintery view and put their drink down and forgotten to pick it up again.
From 17th December 2018
There is something theatrical in the way the gauzy moon lights up the great swelling banks of ghostly cloud. They create a powerful backdrop to the navy night. The air bites shrewdly, it is very cold. The tall flats blaze out as though some party in the keep at Elsinore where the usurping king takes his rouse, blah, blah.
16th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Crunchy grass and diamond encrusted foot paths. Leaves wear little jewel encrusted diadems.
Another hard frost. Crunchy grass and diamond encrusted foot paths. Leaves wear little jewel encrusted diadems. The sea is almost dead calm and the sun explodes out of a cloudless, blue sky. But it is so low in the sky that its rays are nearly horizontal and casts long shadows even at mid day. Fishing boats circle on the tide. Crows croak, gulls wail, robins and blackbirds chortle from the bushes where finches squeak and squabble. A single aeroplane scratches the sky far above.
From 16th December 2020
The stiff onshore breeze is propelling a crazy mess of white spume and spindrift right up the beach to the prom. Thich gouts of yellow foam collect at the water's edge. Further out the broken, sickening grey-green waves say "Landlubbers stay away." On the wet grass a lone magpie, wind ruffling his feathers stands next to a bunch of fresh white roses as if saying "I am what I am." The grey year is turning towards the shortest day.
From 16th December 2019
A sullen grey afternoon. The surf is lacy white at the tide’s edge but a trick of the light makes the foam dance around deep black shadows. For a few moments I think there is something in the sea. A buoy adrift maybe or even a seal popping its head out of the water. But no, it is just the light and shade. A pigeon darts by in the gloom, its wings making a loud whining sound as it passes at speed. A second pigeon claps its wings and I am taken back to my childhood lying in wait among the trees for homecoming flocks of woodpigeons on just such days.
15th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Overhead, streamers and rolls of dark cloud cross from horizon to horizon as the weather front retreats away across the bay.
A vicious little wind, the grass is crunchy underfoot and the ground is frozen hard. The sea sighs and worries at the sand. Overhead, streamers and rolls of dark cloud cross from horizon to horizon as the weather front retreats away across the bay. A robin looks up meaningfully from the path. Mick, the Man who feeds the birds, says that the crow with the droopy wing was rejected by its parents who tried to kill it when a baby, so he always picks it out for special attention. The other crows have spotted this and now all limp about with droopy wings when he appears with food.
From 15th December 2020
The brilliant diamond light of Venus hangs in a navy blue sky. A great dark cloth damasked with threads of silver swirls across its fire in a conjuror’s disappearing illusion. Now you see it; now you don’t. The air where there is grass and trees is heady with that rich earthy smell that is called Petrichor. This word was only coined in 1964 but the phenomenon is recorded in a French Paper in 1891 "Sur l'Odeur propre de la Terre". In every bush there is a robin. A blackbird chortles. The only place where there is a dead stillness is beneath the pines where the carpet of damp needles soaks up all sound except for the distant susurration of the waves.
14th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The English oaks and the silver birch are quite naked now but there are already next spring’s tight red buds ready to go.
A brisk little wind. Chilly but not as cold as it has been. But enough to send the treetops swaying and the magpies chattering. Under the pines it’s quite calm. The leaves lie thick on the ground. The English oaks and the silver birch are quite naked now but there are already next spring’s tight red buds ready to go. The three sided leeks are growing up in strong green washes. Little gusts of cold wind are ready to spring a surprise from behind exposed bushes. A pale sun emerges every now and then from behind a veil of cloud but it provides nothing more that a glassy sheen on the rippled water of the bay. Just enough to keep the day alive.
From 14th December 2021
In one of those little tricks that nature plays on us, the sunset tonight was the earliest of the year (4.02 pm) despite the fact that the actual shortest day is not until next Tuesday. I have seen graphs and diagrams but don't ask me why. Altogether, though, today was oddly flat and still. At times the only sounds on the West Cliff were crows, magpies and jays and assorted background twittering from sparrows and tits in the bushes. The gulls seem to have deserted us and are presumably, feeding out at sea. Even the sound of the excavators on the beach seem strangely muted while the big machine demolishing the Hotel Riviera was crunching through the attic floors with the sound of a nutcracker cracking open a giant walnut. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #December #Winter
From 14th December 2011
The wind has dropped to a cool breeze but the sea roars. It speaks of storms down Channel and out in the Atlantic. Pillows of foam chase up and down the tide line. The moon is still bright enough to cast my shadow on the sand.
13th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A slight but steady swell which creates a wide Cavalier collar of white lace along the tide line.
Grey chilly morning. A cutting wind from the North-east. No sign of the sleet but some little patches of frost left behind where the ice has been compacted. A slight but steady swell which creates a wide Cavalier collar of white lace along the tide line. A red fishing boat carves a wide horseshoe in the bay before heading home. Gulls have taken up various vantage points on lamp posts and roofs and are staring into the distance.
From 13th December 2021
The twisted leafless topmost branches of the sweet chestnut are silhouetted against the night time glow of the town. Along the main road the traffic hurries and rumbles home. From here the roar and swish of the tyres sounds exactly the same as the rush of the surf up the beach. A fussy breeze keeps the evening honest.
From 13th December 2011
A brilliant lemon-yellow sky to the south east above the mass of storm cloud retreating up channel. The strong breeze is lifting the crests of the long, steep breakers into fine spray. The fishing boats are pulled well up on the beach. Nobody is going out in them today but a party of surfers are bobbing in the water out at the end of the pier like a family of seals in a wildlife documentary. Three tour buses but only two Transam Trucking Wagons at the BIC. Can’t have been much of a spectacle last night.
12th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sky is sullen and grey and the sea shivers quietly. On the horizon, the grey mist lingers. It appears like an abstract modernist painting.
The wind is still bitterly cold but it has dried out many of the footpaths. But where there has been heavy footfall, the frost has turned to slush and then refrozen overnight making walking difficult. The sky is sullen and grey and the sea shivers quietly. On the horizon, the grey mist lingers. It appears like an abstract modernist painting. An even carpet of golden sweet chestnut leaves are revealed under the frost. A couple of parties of white domestic pigeons have taken over the still fozen grass. Our resident wood pigeons are busy elsewhere. Robins are singing brightly from many branches and are joined by the occasional wren. An odd looking juvenile gull is lumbering about in unfamiliar territory. In its winter plumage it is difficult It is difficult to make out what variety it is but it has deep smudgey marks over its eyes and side of its head so I would guess a Black Back; gull either greater or lesser.
From 12th December 2021
A dark and gloomy night. The sea booms restlessly. The empty paths and alleys seem mournfully sad in the pools of lamplight. The Celtic Mariner battles its way out of the darkness towards the harbour entrance. A steady breeze propels me along the cliff top. #bournemouth #WestCliff #December #winter
From 12th December 2013
The air is filled with the noise of the sea tonight. Long raking surf sweeping in from the darkness. Not the thud and crash of big waves but a sustained booming roar like the deep pedals of a mighty organ.
11th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
And then a nasty, icy, sleety rain begins and very soon the paths are treacherous.
The frost deepens. Its icy grip tightens on the West Cliff. Patches of rime have not melted for three days and from a distance seem like drifts of snow. And then a nasty, icy, sleety rain begins and very soon the paths are treacherous. Families out for a Sunday morning walk are soon clinging to each other and sheltering under big black umbrellas. Magpies and gulls wander about looking sorry for themselves while a crow commands operations hoarsley from his lamp post vantage point. Later still, a bank of icy fog to the west of the bay begins to creep along the shore until the view of the hills disappear from view.
From 11th December 2021
Damp, dark, drizzly, dreary, dismal. The surf rushes back and forth as it has done for millennia. As it will do for the next thousand years. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #december
From 11th December 2012
A thick, deep frost has settled over everything. Creating a crystal crust that covers cars, grass and gorse. The night is quiet
From 11th December 2011
The sea is an extraordinary dark steel, almost violet stretching away to a pale dove horizon. Lumpy black clouds jostle overhead. As a I turn the sharp breeze throws a handful of cold raindrops in my face. By the time I have reached the clifftop the wind has picked up and there is a steady drizzle. Holm-oaks bend and rattle. Flurries of gulls hang indecisively overhead. Time for breakfast.