19th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
in the deep shadow the cold is still biting. This contrast leads to a sort of photographic image on the path of the posts and rails where the white frost transitions abruptly.
After three days of hard frost the grass is crisp and crunchy. Where the paths were ice-free, they have now acquired a white sugar coating. But the sun is warm and the open grass is now covered in thousands of glittering jewels except for the places in the deep shadow where the cold is still biting. This contrast leads to a sort of photographic image on the path of the posts and rails where the white frost transitions abruptly. The sea slushes restfully. The wagtails are as busy as ever and then, suddenly, for the first time this year, the unmistakeable wheezy voices of the greenfinches from the low bushes.
From 19th January 2022
Half an hour before sunrise at it is still midnight dark. I can just make out a purple sea and a thick, heavy cloud cover. But then, Just above the horizon, a narrow ribbon of orange gold stretching right across the horizon showing that, behind the massy black, the dawn is in progress. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
From 19th January 2021
The surf rampaging up the beach provides the continuo and the wind streaming through the pine tops the obbligato to the violins of the storm. The wind stirs up the damp resiny scent from the thick carpet of pine needles and the the heady warm odour of the wild garlic on the cliff top. The growing light diffuses through the soft grey mist out in the bay and the steady drizzle provides an intoxicating uplift.
18th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The low rays of the early sun pick out the tops of the flats beyond the pine tops in pink and yellow. The contrast wth the dark green of the pines is startling and magical drawing the watcher into strange, mysterious nooks and crannies in reality.
The low rays of the early sun pick out the tops of the flats beyond the pine tops in pink and yellow. The contrast wth the dark green of the pines is startling and magical drawing the watcher into strange, mysterious nooks and crannies in reality. The air is sharp and keen and there is little breeze. The sea hushes and smoothes gently on the sand. The grass is crisp and white with the frost. Pigeons and magpies hop from fence rail to bush and back again. The sky is nearly clear blue except for some whisps of grey cloud and single white scratch of a contrail.
From 18th January 2022
The evening air is damp and piercing. The hazy moon peers through pale poragey clouds. The waves grumble away quietly to themselves. The barely wrinkled surface of the bay reflects the coloured lights from the pier in a sad, impressionistic way. A dark track suited figures jogs out of the darkness into the pools of light cast by the street lights and then disappears into the night again. The West Cliff is empty. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 18th January 2019
Strictly come January. The street lamps throw dramatic pools of light on the dance floor. The sleety drizzle speckles the grass with countless glittering sequins all hand sewn by her mother. The crowd roars with the boom of the sea and whoops with the wind through the trees. She kicks up her heels to show her froth of lacy petticoats as she skips along the beach to the music of the tempest.
From 18th January 2016
A murky muddy morning. A roaring sea and icy driven rain. No sign of life apart from a forlorn dog walker standing hunched on the path and whistling plaintively at a clump of bushes where doggy was clearly prepared to wait whilst its master continued his or her stupidly conceived walk.
From 18th January 2014
An angry sea and spiteful rain. A vicious wind and the grey afternoon draws in to darkness.
17th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Where there are puddles they are sheeted over with thick ice that groans and creaks underfoot until it snaps and shatters satisfyingly.
A fearsome overnight frost. Bitterly cold and, although the grass is covered in a crisp icing, the paths are dry so not slippery. Where there are puddles they are sheeted over with thick ice that groans and creaks underfoot until it snaps and shatters satisfyingly. The air is still except for occasional little frosty breaths like the Snow Queen’s enough to freeze Kay’s heart. The sea moves sluggishly up and down the sand. The dark shoulder of the Purbeck Hills is sprinkled with white and the sun only manages a gloomy appearance from behind a veil of white cloud. The crow with the droopy wing is intent on finding breakfast at the path’s edge while the wagtails flit and bounce. Clumps of dead leaves are welded by the frost into stiff brown plates and mats.
From 17th January 2022
The Full moon (The Moon after Yule or the Old Moon in England. Not those fancy American names made up by advertisers) is hard and sharp. The air is so clear that the stars and planets burn brilliantly overhead despite the moonlight and streetlights. The air is bitterly cold with only a very light breath to pinch my cheeks. The sea rustles quietly to itself. The bay is so smooth the lights on the promende mirror back off the water. I can see all the tiny villages along the west side of the Isle of Wight from The Needles to St. Catherine's. The lights from ships way out in the bay are bright and clear. A dredger to the West, cargo ship at anchor off Old Harry and the Conder Car Ferry scurrying for the Harbour Mouth. And just visible far out on the horizon, Linda, a container ship heading down channel for Dublin. We are joined to the world by the sea not separated by it. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 17th January 2021
Midwinter Spring. As T.S.Eliot called it. Of course it isn't spring but it might as well be. The air is crisp but there is real warmth reflected off the glassy sea from the bright sun. New plants are pushing up though the old thatch of grass. Wild Garlic festoons the path edge. The scent of gorse hangs in the air. From the top of a bush a dunnock sings out loud, lifting his head to the blue sky, his sharp beak carving the air into song.
16th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The remains of the overnight sleety snow has formed large icy crystals over the grass and in the hollows.
The remains of the overnight sleety snow has formed large icy crystals over the grass and in the hollows. The wind has died down to a chilly whisper and the sea has relaxed. The big trees cluster, black and tall. The sky has begun to clear and the gulls wheel across it in delight.
From 16th January 2022
Streaks of purple and slate layer across the bright evening sky. The tranquil sea reflects silver fringed with orange and red from the sunset. The air is cold and damp. The paths of the WestCliff are filled with Sunday evening teatime amblers. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
From 16th January 2015
Beyond the dark something lurks. Beyond the white fence picked out by the glimmering street lamps. Beyond the frost and the stars. The great snuffling beast that is the sea. A sound , a restless breathing in the night. In out. In out. A shuddering breath that means it might at any moment wake and claw it's way up the clifftop to where I'm standing.
The prickle of stars like tears held back.
15th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sky is clear and cold blue except for slabs of battleship grey cloud out across the bay hiding the early sun.
A snappy little breeze. The sky is clear and cold blue except for slabs of battleship grey cloud out across the bay hiding the early sun. The waves march in jagged parallel lines. The beach is populated with dog walkers. Magpies swoop and chatter in the gorse bushes. Gulls mew in the distance. A kestrel springs up and hangs in the cold air for a moment before letting herself be carried off along the cliffs. Two elderly gentlemen with matching grey beards jog along the path. They are clad in T shirts and shorts. Their shorts demonstrating the boniness of their geriatric knees. The only pieces of suitable clothing are the gloves they wear.
From 15th January 2022
A windless, chilly day. The air is damp and the grass and bushes are wringing wet. The mist softens the edge of the tranquil sea so that the horizon disappears and small fishing boats seem to be hanging in mid air. Sounds are muffled and walkers seem to speak in low tones to each other as though some massive plot is bening planned. Yet the the songs of the robins, wrens and blackbirds are sharp and clear. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 15th January 2015
The wind and the surf provide a pounding basso continuo whilst a loose street sign plays in the upper register. The freshly painted double yellow lines glare balefully against the shining wet nighttime black tarmac.
14th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A drizzle of applause and then on encore the wind dies down and the sky lightens.
Dramatic lashing rain. Histrionic outbursts from the wind howling through the pines like a chorus in a Greek tragedy. The trees themselves are waving their arms and fingers as if in session one of an acting class (“Be a tree”). Meanwhile the sea continues like a continuo from the orchestra pit. A drizzle of applause and then on encore the wind dies down and the sky lightens. A pigeon claps its wings and glides across the backdrop its wings held in a stiff V shape. The rest, as they say, is silence.
From 14th January 2022
Another breathtakingly beautiful dawn. Framed by the sable shapes of apartment blocks and ilex trees, the bay stretches out like beaten polished steel to the horizon where it is softened by a gentle mist. But the sky shimmers upwards with colours that transform minute by minute. Magenta, plush orange, pale yellow and a pale green that conitnues up to the still purple zenith. A distant gull crosses the scene completing its perfection. #Bournemouth #westcliff #January #winter
From 14th January 2021
The fine drizzle turns to bigger drops of rain and then stops altogether. The steady breeze is fresh. Refreshing. Although the sky is a uniform grey it is bright enough to reflect with a silver sheen of the wet tarmac. The sea is no longer angry but the state of the tide means it is loud enough to fill the damp air far enough inland to blend with the rush and sigh of the early traffic. Under the pines it is dark and still. A pigeon coos. Great Tits fill the air with their annoying call "Teacher, teacher, teacher." A crow lords it from a high branch quite aware of its superior intelligence.
Later:
The rain is falling steadily from the sombre clouds. The setting sun creeps out from the grey and splashes a brilliant lemon yellow light on the buildings opposite. For a moment they are bathed in pure colour. It is a breathtaking effect you only see at this time of the year when the sunset is low enough to shine beneath the clouds.
From 14th January 2016
The dawn has put on her loveliest dress of pale nursery blue trimmed with pink gold lace. Her butter-wouldn't-melt demeanour denies all knowledge of recent storms and floods. But there is a chill about her wide eyed innocence and heaped around the horizon, great clots of purple clouds look like mud on the skirts of her pretty dress and perhaps she's not to be trusted. And then quite suddenly the sun leaps out from behind the cloud in delicious splendour and all doubts are put aside.
13th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The air is as sharp as a sushi chef’s knife. The sea wrinkles and shivers at the cold.
The air is as sharp as a sushi chef’s knife. The sea wrinkles and shivers at the cold. The sky is clear with puffs of white and grey cloud at the edge. The sun stabs like a searchlight through the trees. The benches are full but everyone is wearing coats. Little grey green blades of daffodill leaves in sheltered spots and there are daisies everywhere although there are not quite enough yet (7 or 9 according to your belief system) to cover with one foot. Crows bleat from the trees.
From the 13th January 2022
Earlier today: The sea is as flat calm as it is ever likely to be. Small wavelets stir at the tides edge. Mist rises off the water. The sun glares down from a dead blue sky and mirrors off the bay with a polished, brassy sheen. Small boats, almost invisible against the light, move in and out of vision as if in some half forgotten fairy tale. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #january
From 13th January 2015
I've remarked before how different the sound of the sea is every day. Today, despite the still of the dawn air and the sullen grey clouds moving aside to reveal a sheer pale sky, the waves are hurling themselves at the beach. Because the sands are long and shallow, one line of surf follows in before the first has broken making a continual hissing roar underpinned with a hollow boom that reminds me of somewhere far and exotic.
12th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The trees loom out of the mist and drip water onto the passer-by.
A steady drizzly rain from an homogenous grey sky. The drops are driven hard by a steady cold wind. The sea is agitated and rushes backwards and forwards up and down the beach. The paths are empty. The only living creatures are two wagtails going about their usual business. The trees loom out of the mist and drip water onto the passer-by.
From 12th January 2022
The pre-dawn light is crystal clear and indescribably beautiful. The lights further along the curving cliffs to east and west are diamond sharp. A playful wind pinches your cheeks to make sure youaare fully awake. Although they are deep in darkshadows, the trees and bushes are filled with the chorusing of blackbirds, robins, wrens and every other bird of the clifftop. The voices of the gulls echo off the still sleeping flats and hotels. The sea is as purple as an emperor's cloak edged with silver and thrown carelessly across the bay. A band of charcoal grey lines the horizon and above that, the sky is filled with a glorious succession of colours: Orange, pink, primrose, green before they fade into the deeper blue of the sky above. Thin wisps and ostrich feathers of cloud edged with pink decorate this extravagance.
From12th January 2021
One day folds into another. The grey mizzle fringes the view and clouds shuffle grumpily across the sky. It is almost impossible to tell Tuesday from Thursday. A swimmer stands waist deep in the surf. His wet trunks cling to his legs and his white torso stands out in odd contrast to the leaden water. Tuesday or Thursday. He appears quite unconcerned. The air is not so icy as it has been and robins are well into their spring tuning.
11th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The way through the woods appears strange and somehow alien.
The wind icy and as stiff as a butcher’s broom. The blue sky is smeared with dabs and streaks of white and grey. The sun is strong and is casting long shadows but there is no warmth in it.By mid afternoon the sky has veiled over completely. The wind shakes puzzlement into the tree tops and a cold rain begins to fall. The way through the woods appears strange and somehow alien.
From 11th January 2022
A misty moisty morning. A featureless, flat sky. The sea grumbles on. The grass is wet with large drops of water held in the curves and creases of the leaves. The long foliage on the clifftop has been mown short and imparts a delicious green scent to the walks. A wren sits high up on a branch in a Scots Pine singing its heart out. #bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
From 11th January 2012
The navy blue night prinked with the fierce jewel light of the stars. The hard polished dish of the moon shining a silver halo on the softly sighing waves. The tiny red and green flickers of the leading lights on the Swash and the very distant warm glow of the Bankes Arms at Studland. And above it all Orion, huge guardian of the frosty January sky.
10th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Everything looks gaunt and unfinished.
Another damp, blustery morning under a flat grey sky The sea grumbles to itself on the shore. The distant hills are watery and barely visible beyond the mist that hangs about like some lurking footpad ready to make himself known at any moment. The treetops nod as if uncertain what to say about this miserable day. The pigeons have all collected under a holm oak canopy. The gulls are distant and meow occasionally in a half-hearted way. Everything looks gaunt and unfinished.
From 10th January 2022
A uniform grey sky. The damp air stirred by a steady chill breeze. A uniform grey sea with just the merest hint of a pale gold band at the horizon. Squirrels scurry about in the brown leaves trying to remember where their winter caches are stored. Somewhere, from one of the pines comes a purring sound. The voice of the turtle dove? Far too early in the year. But the sound is unmistakeable and quite distinct from any other pigeon or dove. I listened for a good five minutes. But perhaps you can suggest an alternative. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
From 10th January 2012
The sea is a pale mauve washing against the dark purple of the clouds. There is a eerie violet tint to the light that makes the silhouette of the pine tree seem a dark brown colour. A slash of pale green zigzags through the cloud bank. An extraordinary comic book scene.
9th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sun peers weakly from between the bubbles and pillows of grey cloud. But there is a pale blue sky up there somewhere and there is occasional warmth.
Chilly and damp. A fresh, clean breeze. The sea curls and laps as if whispering to itself. Something about sea shells and mermaids. I can’t quite catch it. The sun peers weakly from between the bubbles and pillows of grey cloud. But there is a pale blue sky up there somewhere and there is occasional warmth. Someone has found a good place to stack some rhododendron branches for not much reason. The squirrels are looking fat and well fed.
From 9th January 2022
The clifftop pines stand out with crystal clarity against the blue sky. The air is biting cold but the early sun warms it. The waves on the beach snarl and growl. But towards the west is a great curve of cloud denoting a weather front exactly as drawn on a forecaster's map. As it advances, a milky haze crosses the sun and the day is chilled. By slack water at the top of the tide, the waves have gone. A kestrel hangs on the air, its wingtip feathers gripping the air like fingers. It suddenly drops down the cliff and out of sight. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 9th January 2021
The air is thick with cold. Walking through it is like swimming through the biting chill. There is a soft greyness to everything. The sea, the sky, the hills. The world is still. Waiting.
From 9th January 2017
Something unexpected: Stepping outside for my evening constitutional on the West Cliff. The sound of the surf on the sands below. They cry of the gulls wheeling overhead and a thick sweet childhood scent of new mown grass. Thank you Bournemouth Council for that unexpected delight.
8th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The walkers add a particular glow to the day.
Rain lashing down all night. By the morning the sky has a baleful yellow cast as though something portentous is about to happen. And so it continues. But by mid day it’s possible to dodge the showers for a walk. The magpies and crows, fed up with the weather keep up a constant background noise. Gulls wheel and sweep on the gale. But the walkers add a particular glow to the day.
From 8th January 2022
The rain has continued all day and it's only as evening falls that the icy torrents abate leaving just occasional squalls. The waves keep up their unbroken roar along the beach and the cutting wind is still hard and punchy. A hazy moon appears from time to time from between the scudding clouds giving just enough light to throw the long dark sleeve of the Purbeck Hills into relief between the smudgey clouds and the silvery sea. The sleeve is embroidered with the glinting golden lights of Studland and envelopes the Western end of Poole Bay with its protecting bulk. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 8th January 2021
A slicing cold mist edged late afternoon. The sea is creased and wrinkled like a badly ironed tablecloth. The rolling leaden sky is gashed over to the west with vivid patches that reflect on the bay in dull brassy puddles. Voices hang flat on the air so that it's difficult to tell where they are coming from, A guy passes at the other end of the green reciting dub poetry into his phone. The street lights come on and huddle against the oncoming dark. Time for tea.
From 8th January 2020
The evening closes in. A thin, mean fog twists its way around the lamp posts. The sea grumbles loudly like a tiger whose keeper is late with the steaks. The drizzle intensifies so that the whole night is damp and miserable. But when I hang my coat up it glistens with thousands of tiny rainbow raindrops.
From 8th January 2016
As the dawn lightens, a great bank of cloud covering the whole of the Eastern sky emerges out of the night. It is as though a bottle of blue black ink has been spilt on a still wet water colour. But then the brisk morning breeze begins its work and stars begin to appear. Suddenly the edge of the cloud rolls back and the disc of Saturn emerges from the night. It blazes like a distant searchlight before the dawn overtakes it. It is staggeringly beautiful and worth setting your alarm clock for.
7th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The wind lifts the spray from the seething waves up onto the cliff top in a fine mist.
The wind lifts the spray from the seething waves up onto the cliff top in a fine mist. For a moment the rain stops but even the bigger birds are keeping close into their hiding places in the trees. A robin tries to keep cheerful from the depths of a gorse bush. A jogger passes by his thin white matchstick legs look barely capable of supporting his slight frame. An elderly gentleman shuffles along. He is wearing his neat, dark Sunday suit as is appropriate for the day. We exchange greetings and the rain comes sheeting down again.
From 7th January 2022
The sky has been high and grey all day. But with a powerful diffuse glare that strains the eyes. The air is muggy. But later a bullying breeze springs up and the green sea begins to ferment and crumple into waves that make a loud agitated hiss. Purple Toadflax is spiking upwards in the shadier places. Bees of all types are going mad for the pink edged blackberry flowers. A white tailed bumble bee seems to be doing handstands on the top of the wooden handrail. Other bees are doing the same. On closer inspection it may be that they are carving off tiny piese of wood, presumably for nest building. The goats do what they seem to do best which is to eat bushes. It's astonishing how they scramble about the cliffs and force their way through dense bushes without tangling their long curving horns. By evening, the grey has got thicker and the wind colder. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #summer #June
From 7th January 2012
A storm cock on the highest branch of a tall cypress singing his heart out into the teeth of the gale; shouting his delight and defiance at the worst the weather can throw at him.
6th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A fresh, crisp morning, the sun slanting through the trees.
A fresh, crisp morning, the sun slanting through the trees. The sea shushing restfully. It is warm enough to sit and enjoy the scene. Crows caw, magpies chatter and squirrels play kiss chase among the trees. But by midday the sky is quite grey, a little wind springs up and a few hands full of rain changes the mood of the day instantly.
From 6th January 2022
The canopy of ilex trees forms an almost perfect canopy against the cold, driving, hard rain and the punching wind. As I step out from their shelter into the late afternoon and worst of the gale I am instantly soaked by the icy storm. The surf boils and churns in temper kicking up a mass of white foam, luminous in the darkness. Cruel spotlights stab the beach like muderous toledo stilettos where the guys in orange immersion suits are battling to build the new groynes whilst the tide is favourable. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #January
From 6th January 2016
It's not spring yet but... the wind has dropped and the waves are making a less determined rush up the beach. Most significant, the birds of the West Cliff Choral Society are revving up their voices for that Masterwork of the natural year - The Dawn Chorus (Composer Anon). In the grey of the pre-dawn I could hear soloist blackbirds, robins, dunnock, wrens actually singing out with the usual chorus of tits and finches and wagtails beginning to stretch their syrinxes. It's not a full blown rendition as yet and if we get a cold snap many of these brave little musicians will not make it. But the rest will continue. It's not spring yet but it's coming and it will not be held back.
Out in the bay it's the battle of the Mythologies. The Frigga sailing from Poole head to head with Hercules from Southampton destination Cork.
From 6th January 2014
Sheltering in the doorway of a beach hut. This is madness. Huge breakers, ice cold hail driven before a wild tumult of wind. I've never experienced the elements quite like this. Here comes more hail in bucket loads. The sea is driving up on the promenade.
From 6th January 2012
The air is ice-box chill but an elegant breeze stops frost forming. Brilliant stars are still prickling the dawn. The merest smudge of pale sky away to the South East where the Needles light pulses its routine. Four or five little lights are making their way out of Swanage Bay. Where is the Poole fishing fleet? Its captains still rocking on a sea of dreams? Come on Poole fishermen, all the fish will be gone. On the clifftop I am greeted by a barrage of bird song, robins, dunnocks, a wren, tits, a blackbird. This isn't the dawn chorus but it soon will be. As I look back over my shoulder the sky suddenly lights up with huge splashes of gold, orange and pale green.
5th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
From time to time, the sun breaks through and creates a polished puddle on the bay.
A brisk, carefree sort of wind. The sea crawling backwards and forwards on the beach with its usual resolution. From time to time, the sun breaks through and creates a polished puddle on the bay. A little flurry of pigeons is rattled overhead by the breeze. Magpies are thrown about carelessly. The crows are just examining the grass for treats and the wagtails continue to do what wagtails like to do. A man in a light blue anorak explains the weather to an elderly couple. He uses expansive hand gestures. They seem well pleased with his efforts.
From 5th January 2022
A clear blue sky and unbroken sunshine but the temperature has remained well below freezing and in sheltered spots the frost has stayed all day. Ice sparkled leaves crunch underfoot. The wind is cold and penetrating but the sea remains smooth and untroubled.
From 5th January 2016
A little while ago I was trying to describe the sound the sea makes under different conditions. Tonight the wind has dropped and there is a chilly stillness. The sea has still got a lot of energy locked up in it and the waves are hitting the flat sand with a definite thump. What is slightly unsettling, however is the fact that the waves are coming into the beach at a slight angle so I can hear the wave front away to my right and travelling up towards me so that the thump becomes a sort of rumble that passes by far off to my left. This stereo vibration is not unlike a train passing at speed or, as I have heard people describe it, the sound of an earth quake.
From 5th January 2014
That is an extraordinary sunrise. Layers of purple and battleship grey cloud splashed across with deep orange, pink and gold. The sea an almost perfect mirror reflecting back the extravagant colours while the twisted pine tree stands gaunt and black against the dawn display.
4th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Seagulls veer in and out of the seascape adding a dot here or a quick pencil mark there.
Not too cold. The wind is more playful than buffet. The sea just that little more langorous. The sky is more bubbly than flat and from time to time, a weak shadow appears on the path in front of me. Seagulls veer in and out of the seascape adding a dot here or a quick pencil mark there. Squirrels are especially playful careering up and down the trunks of the pines after each other. And there is the January Jay; as good looking as ever but doubtless up to no good. The wagtails are as bouncy as ever.
From 4th January 2022
The character of the weather has changed completely from the last few days. it is cold. The clouds are broken slabs and plates of graphite edged with white. The wind is sharp and nipping. As it jostles the clouds apart and together, little patches of blue appear and occasionally a watery sun throws a little warmth on the day. Little wisps of cloud along the horizon look like a row of typographer’s punctuation marks. The sea is flat and smooth but from somewhere, large, separate waves rise up at the beach and curl over with a distinct thump. A jay swoops low across the path in front of me. A delicate pink with distinctive black and white patches and a brilliant flash of blue on the wing. A pretty bird but not pretty of habits. #Bournemouth #westcliff #January #winter
From 4th January 2021
A vicious wind pinches my ears ad nips my nose like the Eton school Bully. He slaps my cheeks raw. The sea jeers lazily from the darkness. Great grey fat clouds are just visible tumbling across the black sky. Trees huddle together in the darkness. Street lamps shine down starkly on the empty path. Police siren punch through the darkness from the other side of the chine, their blue lights flash crisply in the numbing air. As I jingle my keys at my door I happen to glance at my phone. It ticks over to exactly ten thousand steps. That must be a good omen.
From 4th January 2017
I can't see the horizon in the pitch black of the night, so the big slab of the Oceana seems to be suspended in the darkness half way between the clifftop and the top of the sky as in some conjuror's trick. It looks lovely but you wouldn't get me up in one.
From 4th January 2012
The sun bursts in through my window like a burglar planning to rob me of my last moments of sleep.
3rd January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Looking forward to a day on the beach
The wind comes swinging. Big buffeting blows with those big pillows of gloves. Biff, biff, biff. Each one knocking the breath out of you. Woof, woof, woof. And then your second follows up with bucket after bucket of ice cold water. It’s tough work out day on the West Cliff Green. The big green waves steeple up far off shore and then curl over and rush up the beach in a mass of white foam. The tree tops howl and cheer. Dog walkers, their coats glistening in the grey morning manage to nod and say hello before plunging off into the maelstrom again. A woman and child in pink coat are happily looking forward to a day on the beach.
From 3rd January 2022
It's extraordinary how soon after the solstice the birds start practising for spring. All our local residents are trying out their voices as dawn breaks; a sort of proto-dawn chorus. A blackbird was giving it full beans outside my window well before daylight. There is a cold, buffeting wind and the sea is roaring as it rushes in with its big green breakers. The sky is a multilayered jumble of dark and light greys. The long grasses of the clifftop are beaten down but the dried seed heads of the teasels are standing strong and dramatic. But everywhere plants are pushing up early clumps and rosettes of new green leaves. A bank of nettles looks particularly lush and, yes, there are a few flowers. Daisies are everywhere on the short grass but not there are not enough to put your foot on nine. A yellow sow-thistle begins to unfurl its yellow flowers. A pigeon coos. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #january
From 3rd January 2016
I've been out in it so you don't have to. It's the sort of weather that a countryman I once knew used to call "Wide" and the Irish call "Large". Basically, there's a lot of weather happening all at once. The sea is in turmoil and the wind is enjoying its power by thrusting the needle sharp rain drops into my face and obliterating my glasses with water (rain outside, tears of pain inside). Where the Council have cleared the trees and bushes from the Cliffside the gale funnels up and makes the pines sing (Apparently the clearance was for a site-of-special-scientific-interest but what species of mud scientists may now find specially interesting, I'm not sure). The Council workman stolidly continues emptying the bins and picking up the litter from last night's parties. Give that man a New Year's bonus.
From 3rd January 2012
A howling sand blizzard along the promenade. The sand scours every part of exposed flesh and creeps into every crevice. Down the back of my neck, into my eyes and boots and my hair is filled with the stuff. The rain drives cold needles at us and we are soaked in a minute. No use turning back, you cannot walk against the gale. Big, grey seas tear themselves to pieces against the beach sending up huge columns of white foam that add to the wind driven melee.
2nd January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A gentle breeze. The sun is warm. Two pigeons swoop low overhead.
A pale blue sky and golden light falling on the branches of the trees. A gentle breeze. The sun is warm. Two pigeons swoop low overhead. The gulls wheel in the distance. Woolly hats are worn.
From 2nd January 2022
A complex sky of streaks and swirls and mountains of cloud in slate and light grey, always moving and shifting revealing occasional networks of white cross hatching beneath. Sometimes a distant gap lasering an intense brassy patch on the sea. The big white capped oily rollers in grey green with a yellowish tinge where the sand has been whipped up into the water make a frenzy of white foam at the waters edge. The wind grows and the grey curtains of rain head in from the hills. And then the rain comes. Big drops that within a matter of seconds become a driving deluge of water. Rivulets on the path turn almost instantly into streams and torrents. And within a couple of hours the sun has emerged to throw a lemon yellow glow over the later afternoon. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #january
From 2nd January 2016
Somebody once tried to convince me that there were only twelve people in the world. They just kept dodging out of sight, changing their clothes and reappearing going in the other direction. We discussed this for a long time and in the end agreed on a figure closer to twenty. Tonight, as I walked the clifftop and watched the Isle of Wight Lighthouses, red for the Needles and white for St Catherine's Point I reminded myself that there were no lighthouse keepers anymore and both lights were entirely automatic. Looking in the other direction at the tumble of hotels and apartment blocks that line the Green all with lights blazing but no sign of inhabitants it occurred to me that the whole scene was automated as in a collection of dolls' houses or some enormous stage set. The whole population had been spirited away leaving the lights burning. All that was left was the restless grumbling of the ocean smearing the surf onto the sand below.
From 2nd January 2014
The sea is very loud tonight.
1st January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Under a grey sky, the waves are also boisterous but the beach is filled with crowds disporting themselves along the flat sand.
The world turns on. The air is fresh and clean as a daisy with a playful, buffeting breeze. Under a grey sky, the waves are also boisterous but the beach is filled with crowds disporting themselves along the flat sand. Just a hint of something spring-like stirring but, perhaps, that is wishful thinking. The gulls wail and call in the distance.
From 1st January 2022
Although we had some clear skies to begin with, by mid-morning the rain clouds were rolling up out of the west, obliterating the Purbeck Hills and closing steadily in until it began to rain with big, cold drops. And so it has continued for most of the day. The sky is grey but it has that luminous quality that reflects brightly of the wet tarmac and paths. The big green evergreen leaves shine like mirrors. The sea rolls in with big breakers but it is not cold and people are on the beach in large numbers. Two blackbirds engage in a vocal contest each trying to outdo the other in volume and innovation. As the gloom deepens, two lads are playing football. The sound filling the late afternoon air. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #january
From 1st January 2019
It's not cold tonight. In fact I walked home with my coat unbuttoned and my hat in my pocket. The moon is veiled behind high silver clouds. A slight breeze carries that damp, peaty smell that indicates the year has turned. I catch the resiny scent of the pines and the heavy warm garlicy odour of the ransons that now carpet last autumn's leaf litter. In the light of a street lamp I can see a hazel bush covered in catkins. We may have snow and frost to come but beneath it you know that everything has started into growth. Even the soft surf is saying "spring is on the way".
From 1st January 2016
The Beaufort wind scale is an empirical measure. Which means it is judged on the effect the wind is having rather than by knots, mph or kph. Tonight on the clifftop it is definitely at Force 7 (Sea foam blown into streaks and effort needed to walk against it) but there are gusts up to Force 8 ( breaking wave crests forming spindrift and Progress on foot seriously impeded). In addition there is deluging, stinging rain. If you have to work or drive in it, take care and come home safe.
From 1st January 2014
For a few moments the shreds of clouds are torn away leaving the naked stars trembling against the sloe black velvet night. The air is filled with the constant roar of the breakers and, on the cliff edge, I can feel the shaking of the whole mess of white water below.
31st December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
I keep this journal everyday, written on the day, so you can still see and compare what happens on individual days. Feel free to click back and see every day in more detail. It will remain there for you, Free as long as this website continues. It makes me happy if you read it.
As the weather persists in its childish, ragged and disorderly manner outside, perhaps I should attempt some sort of summing up of the year from the point of view of the Green. It’s tempting to say something like “Funny old year.” But looking back, the last twelve years have all been funny-old so that’s not immediately helpful. It was certainly a very early spring. By which I mean, the mid-winter or Blackthorn spring we often get in the middle of a freeze failed to return to hibernation in the expected way. This stretched on out easily into June and, with no real change we found ourselves in summer without noticing it. Which doesn’t mean it was all particularly spring-like all the time and we had a couple of big storms which snapped off big branches and made walking a hazard for a few days. Our little herd of Kashmir Goats were introduced in March to help manage to cliff face vegetation and have now just become part of the background. Swimming, (the normal sort not this fashion for plunging into the icy water at ridiculously early times,) the sort of swimming that anyone might enjoy whilst on Holiday extended comfortably from May to November with no heroics required. Summer was characterized by the drought which continued on and on and on. The short, thin cliff top grass soon scorched and turned to dust but the longer grasses thrived because all mowing stopped. We had a couple of outbreaks of fire but most people took heed of the No barbecues signs. Although it was a close run thing at times and involved serious conversations between concerned residents and visitors.
And so it continued until the end of September when some stormy weather showed that we really ought to be thinking about Autumn at last. Remarkably, the grass, took only a few weeks to return to its normal vivid green.
But November turned a corner. It became suddenly cold and stormy and despite the fact that it didn’t get really frosty for any length of time we did have a little sprinkling of snow at the beginning of December with the year coming to a climax of gales and torrential rain.
The wildlife has made a peculiar year of it. Somehow it seems, because of the long spring we didn’t get the sudden explosion of growing and bird song we might usually get. This year, for instance I heard one individual woodpecker instead of the usual cast of all three species - lesser and greater spotted as well as the Green. There were no owls. But there were one or two brief visits by Dartford warblers and one or two other warblers looking for somewhere a little less public. But, like many people in a shifting, uncertain world they were keeping their heads down.
I keep this journal everyday, written on the day, so you can still see and compare what happens on individual days. Feel free to click back and see every day in more detail. It will remain there for you, Free as long as this website continues. It makes me happy if you read it.
From 31st December 2021
The interesting thing about posting about the weather and the natural world most days is I've got a sort of phenological record to look back on. 2021 has been characterised by grey skies and a pesistent breeze from mainly northerly and easterly directions. Not what we expect in our corner of Bournemouth. Winter meandered into spring, summer started late and finished early and autumn meandered into winter again. But we had some bright warm days in April and what we had of summer was delightfully warm even if that wind continued. Our flowers tried hard but were caught out by the weather and never reached their full glory. There was some interesting clumps of Enchanters Nightshade, Purple toadflax and the Sheep sorrell covered all the grassy areas with a sheen of red. The real winners, though, were the grasses which grew long and luxuriant throughout the year and made magnificent sweeping vistas throughout spring, summer and autumn especially where the counil had a reduced mow policy. The birds and small mammals did their best to lighten our spirits but I haven't seen our badgers for a little while, kept away by the new goat fencing perhaps. But I was thrilled to see a deer which seems to be living nearby and which seems to enjoy cropping th clifftop grass at night and presumably lying up in the gorse by day. See you in 2022. #Bournemouth #WestCliff ##phenology #2021 #nature
From 31st December 2020
A deep frost. Grass and cars are covered in an even, pale sugary film. Early risers hurry by, hoods pulled well up, hiding faces from the smack of the air. A woman stands, shoulders hunched, in the middle of the road watching a car nudging out of a parking space while only just enough of the windscreen has been cleared. She makes a small wave and hurries inside. Gulls swing by, dark against the intense pale blue and lemon sky. A darker band of cloud blends the edge with the silver, wrinkled sea at the horizon.