8th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A hard frost. The pigeons wandering through the sparkling white grass, disconsolately pecking at the sharp little crystals. The wagtails seem to be enjoying the novelty bouncing up and down in the rime.
A hard frost. The pigeons wandering through the sparkling white grass, disconsolately pecking at the sharp little crystals. The wagtails seem to be enjoying the novelty bouncing up and down in the rime. The waves are regular without menace although they are quite high and curl over with a satisfying thump. Out in the channel a ship signals its presence with its fog horn that echoes eerily round the bay. The sun is strong and warm in a transparent blue sky but the air is still ice cold.
From 8th February 2021
We don't often get weather from the East but today it's providing an ear-bitingly sharp wind. Puddles are thick with glass clear ice. The dawn sky is in two halves. To the West, a pale blue with broken wisps of mauvey cloud. To the east there are great rolling masses of purple grey. But while they may be dumping snow on others it looks unlikely here because the cloud mass is breaking apart, one half drifting South over the Isle of Wight and the other further inland. The East wind carries a different set of sounds from what we are used to, traffic from the Ring Road and the roar of a jet taking off from the airport. Otherwise it is virtually silent apart from the sound of the breeze in the pine tops. Robins and wagtails shuffle about on on the path looking for breakfast. A wood pigeon hasn't quite grasped it isn't mid summer and coos with its usual warm reassurance.
7th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The bright light throws dark barcodes of shadows on the path.
Another cold night with the grass at dawn white with frost. But the sun rises into a clear blue sky with a veil of white mist over the bay. The bright light throws dark barcodes of shadows on the path. A little breeze from the south orders the glittering waves into gently rhythmic slaps on the sand. The small path-side flowers are beginning to appear: Snow drops, yellow groundsel, already making little seed heads, the dark pink of the red dead nettle, speedwell with it’s tiny striped flowers in blue and white like a delicate piece of delft ware, and rich purple violets. A pair of magpies strut and preen in their neat black and white outfits. The wagtails are ever present, ever amusing.
From 7th February 2022
The colour of the afternoon is pale and washed out under a dull grey sky. A briskcold and dry wind hurries walkers along the paths. The sea hisses and grumbles as it crawls up the beach in little waves. A small circle of gulls wheel and wail half heartedly. The lights are coming on in the hotels and apartments. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #winter #february
From 7th February 2021
A vicious wind from the east has brought down one of the pines across the path. Pines do not root deep and this year, top heavy with cones, three have been felled by the elements tearing easily out of the sandy soil, exposing the flat plate of roots. Trees are living things and they come to the end of their lives quite naturally. This one I should judge to be no more than fifty or sixty years. These pines never get much beyond eighty years even in the most benign circumstances and here, bent by the wind as they grow, they are unlikely to reach that age except in the sheltered chines. But as individuals come and go, there will still be a grove of trees here into the future. New ones taking the place of the old ones, naturally or planted by the council. Look at old photographs and you will not see the same trees. They come they go. This is a mutable place, always changing, always staying the same. Just like the sea; Huge breakers on Friday, flat calm yesterday and now restless as a hungry animal today. And on the cliff top, a tiny clump of celandines where there was none before.
From 7th February 2016
Imogen is one mad lady. Where the wind is funnelled past the tall buildings she laid into me fists flying, pummelling the breath out of me so that I had to drag myself past hanging on to the fence. Under the pines she was howling and roaring until she shredded herself into a tumult of rage through the gorse bushes making the fence and wires sing and shout with angry song.
6th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A bitterly cold night but the sun bursts up into the palest, almost colourless, cloudless skies. The shadows are long. The sea sighs gently and gulls are wailing softly out on the bay.
A bitterly cold night but the sun bursts up into the palest, almost colourless, cloudless skies. The shadows are long. The sea sighs gently and gulls are wailing softly out on the bay. Despite the cold, the little waves are sparkling, the little birds are singing from every bush and every bench is occupied by those enjoying the sun. For the first time there is a hint that spring may be on its way.
6th February 2022
After a day of strong, blustery wind and rattling showers, the sun drops below the cloud ceiling and its low beams light the yellow gorse flowers so they glow. The wind roars in the tree tops and the waves on the bay race in and up the beach in jaunty parallel lines. I've observed before how, when we have strong winds from the South and West, they shoot straight up the cliff and curl over at the top creating a tunnel of still air along the cliff edge path whilst the gale continues to howl over the rest of the Green. Gulls squeal with delight as they soar and swerve. Pigeons anxiously peck at the grass. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #winter #february
6th February 2015
Against the grey dawn the gulls fight the chill updraught. The grumbling surf pushes high up the frozen sand making foam filled pools and inlets. But on the clifftop there are brief signs of spring. A clump of daisies huddled in the frosted grass and the small birds are trying out an early version of the dawn chorus
5th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The chilly air lasts all day and even though the sun manages shine brightly from time to time, as soon as it is covered by the thin, high cloud it loses its power.
The chilly air lasts all day and even though the sun manages shine brightly from time to time, as soon as it is covered by the thin, high cloud it loses its power. The beach is busy with crowds enjoying what sun there is, even if they are all wearing coats. The morning chorus is building with robins, dunnocks and green finches all adding to the jollity. Catkins, fat and long hang on the hazel bushes.
From 5th February 2022
The pale washes of colours fade up into a clear blue dawn but the wind is sharp and cold. The lively waves chase each other up the beach. But the warmth of the sun begins to be tempered by flat sheets of altostratus cloud, at first thin and hazy but then thick and grey. The gulls circling overhead swerve and dive on the updraught. By lunchtime the wind is strong and wintery. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #winter #February
From 5th February 2021
The air is so fresh it almost fizzes. The clouds to the West are still purple with night but the sun pushes up a brilliant yellow as blithe as a canary. Everyone stops to take pictures. A pretty dark haired girl balances her phone on the wall and stands where it can see her and the dawn. She is happy to share her beauty with the world. The sun slants in among the West Cliff pines bathing them in a warm orange glow. A wood pigeon, released from the cares of winter surfs the air, breasting upwards, its wings held in a stiff v behind, before cascading down again. Other pigeons coo and clap their wings. Back on the road a lad in a BMW grins when he sees me looking at his car. He stamps on the pedal giving me the joyful benefit of the full five and a quarter litres. I know I shouldn't, but I love the smell of hydrocarbons in the morning.
From 5th February 2014
On the West cliff several huge pines are cracking and straining at the earth. They're going to go over.Durley Chine the council are using their big blue tractor to push the sea back where it belongs. How to be British: At the height of the storm I am picking my way over the mass of debris that's swirling around my feet. Quite large branches are coming off the trees now some of which are beginning to lean perilously past the vertical. The rain is stinging my face and I can hardly keep my eyes open. I pass a man in shorts and a T-shirt wielding a leaf blower. I stand aghast for a moment. He grins a gap-toothed grin at me and carries on with his utterly pointless task. I believe the facebook term is WTF?
4th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A motor boat and jetski race each other across the bay leaving two scratchy white wakes.
A chilly, misty flat day. The air is sharp and flat at the same time. The sky is flat and grey with no sign of the sun. The sea is flat and uninterested in the little coaster Schillplate anchored out in the bay. A motor boat and jetski race each other across the bay leaving two scratchy white wakes. The greenfinches are beginning to make themselves known again. Along with the dunnocks and robins we have the beginnings of a dawn chorus. The brambles are lined with little grey-green buds beginning to burst into leaf. A teenage couple are engaged in that age old ritual dance where they try to find out how far a relationship will stretch. “You’ve got my money. It’s mine. I need it. To buy fags.” the lad continues holding his hands behind his back and laughing. And so they continue. We’ll creep away and come back in forty years to see how they got on.
From 4th February 2022
A boisterous, chilly breeze from the North West. The overnight rain has cleared but everything is still damp. The sky is blue behind all those lumps of grey and white clouds and the sun is warm when it appears suddenly. The sea makes a regular cheery thump as it lands on the flat sand. Where workers are clearing invasive scrub from the cliff face, the chopper groans and belches. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #winter #February
From 4th February 2015
The sky is still sheer pale blue-grey and the air is intensely cold but the late afternoon sun is warming the Edwardian brickwork of the block opposite with an apricot glow.
From 4th February 2014
Big, solid, brick built Edwardian block where I live is shaking and grumbling as the roar of the gale and the surf rises. The rain and salt spray lashes against the bay window. Outside a dejected sodden dog and its sodden dejected master fight their way up the steps of the block opposite. A wheely bin pirouettes and dances up the Gardens before giving up the struggle and toppling over into a puddle.
3rd February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The clouds are still grey and woolly but allowing a few more glimpses of the sun and the lunch time readers and texters seem to be a little more relaxed.
During the winter the titmice form large, unruly gangs of various species that maraud about the hedgerows and low branches. These twittering bands flit from branch to branch ranging over quite large distances. But then as spring approaches they break up and go their normal, separate ways. Today a pair of Great Tits chasing each other about the bare branches seem to be a sign that spring is on its way and romance is in the air. The overnight rain left everything wet but the warm westerly wind soon began drying the grass out. The clouds are still grey and woolly but allowing a few more glimpses of the sun and the lunch time readers and texters seem to be a little more relaxed.
From 3rd February 2022
A starless sky with just a few vague smudges of light over the Purbeck Hills. There is a hint of a fresh breeze from the south west. The little waves of the incoming tide make a familiar gentle rushing sound. Out in the bay the chemical tanker Cumbrian Fisher rides at anchor its lights dancing off the water. A small plane heads off for Guernsey out over the bay. The clifftop paths are mostly empty. Dog walkers and those hurrying home come and go in the pools of light. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #Westbourne #winter #February
From 3rd February 2021
It's been raining hard all night and now it's become what a sports commentator might describe as a Steady Downpour. Gutters are full and water cascades down the walls of buildings where downpipes are blocked. Sheets of standing water spread across the road. The tarmac is mirrored with the reflection of the grey dawn light. The excavators on the beach arch and pick with a graceful delicacy. Their working lights making bright paths along the tide washed sand.
From 3rd February 2016
I don't drink much champagne any more but stepping out into the dark before dawn the air is as crisp and intoxicating as a mouthful of Krug or Dom Perignon. The palest of light in the eastern sky and the little ring of fishing boats on the horizon just describe the bay. And above, the intense silver of the moon overpowers the ordinary stars leaving the bejewelled splendour of the five planets slashed across the southern sky like a most gorgeous choker at the neck of the most elegant woman in the world. I may not live the champagne life style but my day begins with fizz and diamonds.
From 3rd February 2015
The snow streams across the street light's pool. It seems in a hurry to be somewhere. A soft blanket covers the roofs of cars. All is forgiven.
2nd February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Occasionally a sliver of polished platinum slices across the waves out in the bay where the sun edges through.
On the Westcliff Green we are poised between sea and sky and land. Looking from one to another is dynamic and disturbing. Building up strange dream images. Today is all about clouds. Big beefy yorkshire puddings and soft pillowy cushions. You cannot but help staring upwards at the rich cloudscape and wishing you could dive into them. The sea is fidgetty and uncertain. Occasionally a sliver of polished platinum slices across the waves out in the bay where the sun edges through. The westerly wind is not cold but it nudges and hurries at every turn of the path. Two nights ago a tawny owl traversed the length of the Green hooting the whole way.
From 2nd February 2022
The air is fesh and cool with the slightest breath of breeze. The sky is clear dotted with white and gold fair weather clouds. Now the sun is higher during the day, it provides some warmth and dances strongly off the bay. At slack water on the low spring tide little waves slap lazily onto the sand. In the bright light a mass of daisies shine almost silvery against the short grass. A wren sings from a pocket in the thick overcoat of ivy of an old, dead tree. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #February
From 2nd February 2021
A long, reaching, blusterous breeze spinning up sand dervishes on the prom. The big broken green rollers, white caps whipped away by the wind coming in hard and fast from the bay. Out there to the South West grey clouds roll in from the hills bearing the first prickles of rain. But for all the gloom, the sky is higher and brighter presaging lighter evenings to come. A crow sits hunched on a lamppost. He is in charge of the day.
1st February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sun slides in and out from behind big pillows of cloud. When it is out, it casts dark shadows and it is warm enough for those sitting out reading on the benches.
A swift little wind. But it has backed to a more Westerly direction and is much less chilly. The sea is made up of polished ripples which arrive on shore in gentle wavelets. The sun slides in and out from behind big pillows of cloud. When it is out, it casts dark shadows and it is warm enough for those sitting out reading on the benches. The goats have cleared much of the underbrush on the cliff face and the silhouettes and shadows of small birds can be seen dodging about the gorse. In the pine trees, the twittering of goldfinches is almost at full volume.
From 1st February 2022
The strong wind from the north rattles through the tree tops and bowls along the cliff edge combing out the new, long grass and the fresh leaves of the wild garlic straight. Two greenfinches warble and wheeze at each other from rival bushes. Crows sit in the old, burnt pine tree and swoop down the cliff on the wind before pulling up and landing back where they started. A single thread of orange shows across the grey horizon. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #February #YearOfTheTiger
From 1st February 2019
Despite the continuing sleety flurries and the bitter wind, the snow is gradually retreating. Occaional ghostly stretches loom out of the darkness. There is a strangely liminal feeling to the evening. Not quite one thing nor yet another. The sea itself is undecided. An occasional booming breaker running along the shore line followed by a couple of minutes of small frothy wavelets. A yellowy arc of light out in the bay from the Danish oil rig support vessel Esvagt Dee, strangely homely in the ragged night. A woman talks so loudly into her mobile that her friend could hear it without the phone at all. I gather they are going to meet up at a wedding next week.
From 1st February 2016
Thomas Hardy thought of himself as 'a man who used to notice such things'. What I noticed today was the sudden waft of resin as I walked under the pines. This isn't the gluey chemical smell you might associate with washing up liquid or bathroom cleaner. This was bigger, more complex, resonant with meaning. It conjured up two quite different memories. The first was sitting at a small table in the almost pitch black night of Corfu drinking a flask of piney retsina, "The beaded bubbles winking at the brim." At the same time I recall trudging through silent northern pine forests quite alone and with a heavy yellow sky overhead pregnant with snow. I hope you find something to notice today.
From 1st February 2015
The wind is bone-marrow cold. The streetlights stare own uncomprehendingly at the empty midnight road. The lights are going out in the apartment blocks. Above, a knife sharp moon and his teeming cohorts plan the night's entertainment.
From 1st February 2011
sea is polished gold. further out a band of steel below a low bank of purple cloud and a sky of startling copper green.
31st January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A woman in a woolly hat is balancing a big drawing pad on the cliff top rail. The wind is determined to disrupt her work.
The wind is cutting, The sun glares from milky blue sky. The sea nudges the shore benevolently. A woman in a woolly hat is balancing a big drawing pad on the cliff top rail. The wind is determined to disrupt her work. It is flagging the leaves back and forth but she is concentrating hard, wrestling the wind and making strong black marks with her charcaol. A big flock of gulls circle in the clear sky above the trees. They wail and squawk and as they twist and turn the sun flashes brightly from their white undersides.
From 31st January 2022
The sun bursts up and over a bank of slate coloured cloud into a clear blue sky smudged with white and purple cloudlets. Despite its best efforts to warm us, the dawn is icy with a blustery North wind. Sometimes it's tempting to see too much of spring on these days and we are easily fooled. There is still winter to come. But the catkins are long and yellow on the hazel bushes. There are green buds and little red flowers already showing. Pairs of pigeons are flirting with clear amorous intent. Today a pair of great tits dodge from fence to bushes. And in the interests of scientist I try to count the greenfinches I can hear. I can make out five from all parts of the Green. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #January
From 31st January 2017
The sort of night beloved of 1950s film makers. The mist and rain swirls about my face. The sea seethes at the bottom of the cliff but I can't see it for the mirk. Streetlamps produce perfect cones of light along the deserted pavements. The off licence sign glowers through the fog and the man behind the counter serves me with suspicion. Even my cheery greeting fails to elicit a smile. Along the clifftop I see a gaggle of women. Fifteen, maybe twenty. The only souls I have seen out. For a moment I think it must be our local contribution to the global demonstrations but as I draw nearer I realise they are looking for the nearest pub. A chill wind accompanies me homewards.
From 31st January 2014
My goodness the weather is enjoying itself this afternoon.
From 31st January 2012
The air is as crisp as a spritzer. Being in it means you are breathing great lungs full of life. Drunk on fresh air is good.
30th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Long streaks and raggedy mackerel bubbles of grey cloud hide the sun.
Chilly but fresh. The sea is calm and tenderly smoothes the brow of the beach. Long streaks and raggedy mackerel bubbles of grey cloud hide the sun. They give the illusion of heading fast for the horizon. Go faster stripes for the heavens. A pigeon flies fast overhead. Some important mail to deliver obviously. A strange toothy blue plastic flower on a shiny bush. Despite the cold weather, a patch of nettles have decided to get on with spring.
From 30th January 2022
Greenfinches usually start singing in March but here is one wheezing away like a pensioner climbing the stairs before January is out. The greenfinch is a pretty olive green bird with bright flashes of yellow and can be heard from every bush and low tree on the West Cliff. It is is so common here that I think of it as our signature bird and while it is sharp decline elsewhere it seems to be holding up here. And within a couple of paces I can see a pair of coal tits racing excitedly round in the branches of a pine whilst making their distinctive two note call. The sun is shining down from a sky lined by high feathery trails of cloud and reflects brightly off the sea with the brilliant sheen of a panto dame's cloth-of-silver walk down frock. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
29th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sky like a rumpled grey duvet. The sun, tousled haired trying to pull itself out of bed but not succeeding.
Still chilly and damp. The sky like a rumpled grey duvet. The sun, tousled haired trying to pull itself out of bed but not succeeding. People move about but quietly as if in a dream. A young man with a tiny spiky dog. The dog has decided it does not want to walk with the young man and wishes to go anywhere but where directed or attach itself to anyone but who is on the other end of the lead.
From 29th January 2022
Lumpy grey and slate coloured clouds rolling and jostling and occasionally allowing the sun to peep though and project luminous puddles onto the rippled green sea. The waves boom and hiss comfortingly. The wind, confused as ever has moved round to the West and is quite cold. Later the sun finds a longer time to shine through and the light and warmth glares up brilliantly from the bay. A dunnock joins the pre-spring chorus with its sweet melody. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #january
From 29th January 2016
Luxury is being inside whilst the wind rattles the windows and the rain chatters against the glass. But to be outside... to be in amongst the pines and hear the roaring of the gale and taste the spindrift carried up from the surf below. To feel the cold drizzle whipping against your cheeks. To feel breathless as you're bowled helplessly along before the gusts. To be part of it all is to be alive.
From 29th January 2011
A clock provides a reassuring heartbeat to a house. With my old longcase ticking in the hall my flat has become my home.
28th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The view through the gorse that reveals the little ships in the bay or the path dropping away out of sight that might give rise to some stranger narrative.
Cold, wet and miserable with a heavy mist. Everything is wringing with moisture. Four coasters and bunker vessels anchored out in the bay; presumably waiting for the tide or for a berth. The Ro-Ro freighter Pelican noses through the little fleet on its way back from Bilbao. However drab the day feels, there are always surprising little views framed by trees or bushes that you may never have spotted before. These are delightful windows into another reality. The view through the gorse that reveals the little ships in the bay or the path dropping away out of sight that might give rise to some stranger narrative. Pigeons coo and Magpies whirr.
From 28th January 2022
The air is crisp and fesh. A gentle breeze eases in from the South west across the bay making the otherwise tranquil water glitter and sparkle. The sky is all but blue with a veil of muslin thrown across it. White mist drapes across the horizon. In the open it is warm in the gauzy sunshine. A crow demands attention from the branches of a Scots Pine and further along a goldfinch practises a few notes of its spring song. Pigeons sip at the the diamond drops of dew on the grass. A robin gives it some heart from a post on the end of the iron railings. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #January.
From 28th January 2019
The Earth born hunter strides out across the waters of the bay and climbs to his place against the shivering crystals of the stars. The little dog Procyon snaps at his heels. I say little dog because, although he is meant to be Orion’s hunting companion I always imagine Canis as a twisting, leaping little terrier. “Yap yap yap” says the little dog to the mighty giant towering way above him. Orion bends and puts a gentle hand on the little dog’s nose. “Sh. Sh. Little Dog Procyon, “ he says. “You startled Lepus the Hare and we’ll never catch him now. We shall hunt Taurus the Bull instead.” But the Little Dog Procyon keeps up his yapping. “What is that? Little fellow, what are you trying to tell me? The Scorpion? Run. Run for your life.” Orion arches his bow up against the stars but there he stays frozen in the winter night with the little dog faithful to the last at his heels.
From 28th January 2016
Above the boom of the surf and the roar of the wind in the pines the barking of a pair of foxes. Companionship? Lust? Or downright antipathy? Who can divine relationships? Meanwhile the tawny owl continues her mournful calling for a mate.
From 28th January 2011
all writers should travel by bus. the dialogue is extraordinary. the British people are all poets
27th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The world is described by an impenetrable sort of trigonometry.
The breeze is cutting and cold but it smells somehow green and fresh. The sea rolls gently in in those odd, straight corrugated ridges and furrows mirroring the horizon until the scene becomes an odd jumble of ruler straight lines and angles. The world is described by an impenetrable sort of trigonometry. A pile of feathers show where a cat or fox has surprised a pigeon. The rest of the flock wander around unconcernedly.
From 27th January 2022
The breeze has moved on round to the South West but it's stronger in that direction and laden with tiny drops of rain. The sky to the south is banded with light and dark cloud in great stripes. The waves move in to the shore in straight parallel lines mirroring the cloudscape. A couple are frowning at a map. They ask me where the Wessex Hotel is. It takes me a few seconds to puzzle it out. How quickly we forget. A ragged white dog is barrelling across the grass towards its mistress. It skids to a stop and sits there looking up at her. She finds a treat in her pocket and it is off again at full speed. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #January.
From 27th January 2021
A grey, damp average January day. Typical of January days long passed. Just over here is the remains of a Bronze Age barrow. What did Bronze Age people do on a day like today? Sit round their hut fires telling stories and waiting for the ground to dry enough to begin spring ploughing? And before them, wandering family bands making their way along the tide line looking for shellfish. Did the babies cry on their Mothers' backs for the cold? Today there are excavators and bull dozers shoring up the beach against the future. Bournemouth is built on sand. The Sands. Without all this work the sand would be gone in a few years. And then the winter storms would nibble the cliffs away and the remains of the Bronze Age barrow would disappear for ever.
From 27th January 2016
For a moment the walk through the pines is in cathedral silence, the soft carpet of needles absorbing all sound. Then the gale sweeps up the cliff face and sets up an eerie moaning in the pine tops. The branches bend and gnash and the noise is intense. At the foot of the chine the sea is thrashing itself into a chaotic mess a hundred yards off shore. It is an exhilerating start to the day.
26th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A cutting wind from the north east means the temperature plummets as soon as the sun disappears behind smears of slate coloured clouds.
A cutting wind from the north east means the temperature plummets as soon as the sun disappears behind smears of slate coloured clouds. When the sun is out everyone smiles and says “Morning” or “Hi”. As soon as it goes in, amblers hunker down within themselves and find it difficult to make eye contact. A few patches of frost remain but mostly everything is just wet. The West Cliff Green itself is eerily silent. It seems to be sandwiched between the grumbling of the sea on one side and the sound of builders hammering at one of the hotels on the other. The ivy is glossy against the roughly ridged bark of the pines. The goats work on unconcerned. #bournemouthgoats
From 26th January 2022
The wind has shifted to West of North and it's a degree or two warmer. The sea has been smoother than millponds I have seen in the past. Walking home in the dark I see a couple canoodling on a bench. I try not to distract them but they say "Hi." and we exchange a few niceties about how calm everything is. And then I step off their stage into the darkness again. Out in the bay I see the running lights of a boat switch from red to green and back to red. It is the Swanage Lifeboat carrying out a search pattern. I hope it is just an exercise. Stay safe. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #january
From 26th January 2016
I am having a moment of existential angst. The England cricket team does not exist. Cricket does not exist. I do not exist.
25th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A pair of crows have taken the opportunity to claim the high ground and strut about imperiously.
A sullen, sad day. The frost gives way to a wet fog that hangs over the cliffs. The sea mutters and groans out of sight. A pair of crows have taken the opportunity to claim the high ground and strut about imperiously. A robin comes out of the bushes to inspect passers by. But none live up to its expectations and it returns whence it came. The black earth beneath the leaf litter is scattered with the holes where the squirrels have been digging for whatever delicacy may be hidden there. The eternal question is “Do they know where they have buried these caches or do they just dig at random?” Answers on a postcard, please.
From 25th January 2022
The problem with a grey sky like today's is that there are no shadows. Everything has a grey, uniform cast. Even those myriad of greens and browns that make up the trees and bushes. The vibrant bright yellow of the gorse fades into the background. It is amazing how much light and shade brings a sense of action and life to the day. It's what artists call "chiaroscuro". The darker the shadows the more we see colour and tone. I'll leave you to frame some sort of metaphor about the grimness that surrounds us generally at the moment. It is the distinctly black and white birds that stand out. The magpies, lording it over the pigeons and shuffling off the fence where they like to sit. . And two little missiles that whizz by and are never still when they land, A pair of wagtails bobbing and weaving busily. Bringing delight with their dancing. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
From 25th January 2016
The amber beads strung out along the edge of night/ Are no enticement to me now./ The wrinkled moonpath /The silver sea path /Draws me to the winking eye of Wodan /The flashing ruby fire. /The star wolves to guide /And the black ravens to know /The dark horizon glow /That means another world below.
From 25th January 2015
The Eyes of God making a gold curtain rail on the horizon. A ship stacked with containers bound for eternity ploughs towards this glittering world edge.
24th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A party of gulls swirl overhead chattering amonst themselves as if undecided about what to do with the day. But later they carry on swirling as they wait for Mick the seagull man under a fingernail of a day old moon in a sunset sky.
Every day on the West Cliff Green has its own story to tell but today is particularly characterless. There is no frost but is cold, grey and damp. Bone marrow cold. The sea is restless and bored. There is no sign of spring, just the winter flowers and tiny fruits of the strawberry trees and the gorse which provides some jollity with its yellow flowers at most times of the year. Leaning on the rail watching the goats I am joined by a dog walker. We marvel how the goats manage to pass though the tangle of bushes without getting their long, sweeping horns caught. We are impressed by the amount of undergrowth they have cleared. We are astonishedby the way they climb right up into the gorse bushes to get to the prickly forage. “Not to my taste.” says the dog walker. “Although it might be all right with some cheese and pickle.” A party of gulls swirl overhead chattering amonst themselves as if undecided about what to do with the day. But later they carry on swirling as they wait for Mick the seagull man under a fingernail of a day old moon in a sunset sky.
From 24th January 2022
The sky is not so uniform grey this afternoon. There are lumps and bumps of darker and lighter cloud. The wind has swung to the East and has a raw, wintery feel to it. Tiny waves fret anxiously at the shoreline. The guys who have been wading up to their waists in the freezing water during the winter storms replacing the groynes have finished their work and begun loading their equipment onto lorries. A bull dozer makes a final push across the beach, smoothing out the sand. It is as though the circus has packed up and is leaving town. A flock of pigeons that has taken centre stage on the short grass, filling their crops for the colder weather to come. A blackbird chacks nervously from a gorse bush. A robin hops nearby and after peering at me decides I am not worth the bother and hops away. A wren carols from the hedge. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #January.
From 24th January 2012
You can never be exactly sure when the darkness thickens into light. Suddenly you can see the edges of the path, the surf ghosting in upon the sand and, by the faintest mist of light on the horizon, you gradually become aware of the immensity of the ocean. Standing in the shelter of a beach hut you realise that time is not an entity to be measured but a process in which we become gradually aware of the universe slipping by and entropy quickening pace. Cold rain is falling steadily as I step out from night into daylight.
23rd January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The three cornered leeks are carpeting the low growing edges of the woodland. Big bunches were gathered last night for use in special recipes for the Chinese New Year. Welcome to the Year of the Rabbit.
The sharp overnight frosts continue. The rime on the path sparkles in the hazy early morning sun. The sea has come to terms with its anger and throws, small meditative waves up onto the sands as tentative offerings. The crow with the droopy wing is practising the appropriate spring time whirrs and honks. The three cornered leeks are carpeting the low growing edges of the woodland. Big bunches were gathered last night for use in special recipes for the Chinese New Year. Welcome to the Year of the Rabbit.
From 23rd January 2022
Another, flat, grey day. Voices seem to get swallowed up in the damp air so you have to lean towards each other in conversation. Today's topic for discussion was about the gulls lining up on the fence hoping there might be something for them and squabbling when there is. When do the black headed gulls acquire their breeding plumage? (Not yet, it seems) and how old are the juvenile herring gulls before they acquire adult plumage? (Can be up to four years.) And, how good are they at recognising individual humans? My colloquist insists that the gulls station look outs opposite the front door of the chap who feeds them every day so that they know exactly when he's coming. A party of eight to ten assorted gulls walk across the grass. When one turns an heads off in another direction they all do. The life of a gull seems to depend on what the other gulls are doing. Desperate not to lose out. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #January
From 23rd January 2019
The bay is black. I cannot see anything beyond the pools of illumination from the lights that line the prom in a great arc. The empty beach and a mere hint of the surf beyond. It is like staring close up at a pair of heavy black velvet curtains. But as my eyes begin to accustom to the dark other lights resolve The TV transmitters on the Isle of Wight. The huddle of lights below the Purbeck Hills that is Studland. And fainter yet, the red and green pinpricks of the buoys and leading lights of the safe channel into Poole Harbour. And then there is substance out in the bay, a breath of lighter air that is the horizon. And there over Handfast and beyond a cluster of lights which are the lifeboats from Swanage and the red flashing light which may or may not denote a Search and Rescue helicopter.
22nd January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Early morning walkers cross the sun’s path, moving in and out of the mist ghost-like, almost transparent.
Early morning walkers cross the sun’s path, moving in and out of the mist ghost-like, almost transparent. The sun is new and polished golden and the sea is peaceul. The frost is still thick but it feels warmer. There is poragey grey cloud to the West over the Purbeck Hills which probably means a rise in temperature. The pines stretch and claw against the blue sky. A crow claims dominion over all it beholds with a regal bark.
From 22nd January 2022
Sometimes I think there will be nothing to write about tonight. The sky is closed in with clouds. No moon or stars. Not freezing cold. No wind to speak of. The sea is behaving itself. And yet, the West Cliff is oddly beautiful in the dark. Distant lights across the bay. Empty pools of light on the paths. And a strange camaraderie of the people who come and go. The wanderers and wayfarers making their way back to the vans where they sleep. The dog walkers. Those who don't want to return to their empty bed sitting rooms just yet. They all say "Good night." or make eye contact. It is a strange meeting place. But for many it is home. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #January #Winter
From 22nd January 2021
The cold breath of the breeze strokes my cheek. The low waves soothe the beach and frost sugar coats the grass. Two fat pigeons shuffle uncertainly on the railing but I have no plans to tease them today. It is a dawn filled with sound. Two girls twist and dance in the icy surf. Their distant shouts, half of shock, half of glee pierce the air. A blackbird chacks its displeasure at my passing. A faint mixture of traffic and birdsong. The dark leviathans of the cliff-top hotels slumber on, waiting for the call when the pandemic has passed.
21st January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
It is the day for a walk, or to stand and stare at the scene.
A cold, still air. The sun glares down from an empty sky but the frost is still thick in the shadows. The trees are darkly etched against the blue. The sea is plale green, smooth and quilted. The small birds have all come out to enjoy the sunshine, robins, dunnocks and wrens. Magpies chase around in groups. It is the day for a walk, or to stand and stare at the scene.
From 21st January 2022
No stars tonight. Just a muddy flat sky reflecting the lights of the town. Out across the bay, the lights twinkle in the distance but not enough to lift the spirits. Coming home a man with a small dog were contemplating the view. The dog, a terrier, found a hole in the fence and went ratting in the long grass. When it reappeared it had lost its little coat. The man began to climb over the fence. "Do you want any help?" I said. At which he caught his foot in the wire and disappeared into the darkness. As I struggled him back over the fence he was laughing. And to be perfectly honest, so was I. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter
From 21st January 2021
A crisp chill air with a blustering, boisterous breeze keeping everything in order. The sky is so pale blue as to be almost colourless, transparent as if you could see all the way through to the heavens. Where the blue meets the bright primrose to the east there is a vivid green wash to the sky. Great grey rolling clouds line the horizon as majestic as a herd of elephants, the bull right where the sun is about to rise and the baby hanging on to its mother’s tail half way round the horizon where the sky is streaked with tangerine. White cap waves hurry up the beach anxious not to miss the carnival. Seagulls hang black specks in the sky dome. Two, less adventurous, gossip on top of the shelter.
20th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A pigeon has found an ideal place to roost and refuses to move even when I approach.
As the overnight frosts continue the white icing in the shade is more reluctant to disappear. The sun dazzles down from a virtually clear blue sky. Just a few wisps of white cloud decorate th horizon. The sea remains tranquil. There are long shadows even at noon and the air remans biting cold. Little crowds of elderly folk, obviously coach trippers, fill the paths. one such group numbers over a dozen. Despite the cold they are delighted to be at the sea side but huddle together for warmth. Birdsong is beginning to fill the air. Robins and finches populate the bushes. A pigeon has found an ideal place to roost and refuses to move even when I approach. A family of magpies rattle at each other from the tree tops as if they, too are having a day out.
From 20th January 2022
The air is cold but the sun beats down gloriously from an unsullied blue sky. Where there is shelter it is quite warm and where the sun reflects up from a breeze rippled sea it is shirt sleeve weather. A life boat is practising in the bay leaving big circles and straight lines in its wake. A young man sits on a bench with a towel round his shoulders whilst his mate cuts his hair. Blackbirds call. And on a sunny bank there is a profusion of violets. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
Later
The cold is intense tonight. As cold as it has been all winter. The Old Yule moon is enormous, low down to the East although it is a few days after full. The stars burn fiercely. Orion to the South and Sirius further down towards the horizon, the brightest star in the sky. Gemini the Twins and the Pleaides are very clear to either side. A procession of bright lights bob and weave through the trees. There is unearthly laughter and rasping breathing as in some eerie witches dance. It is a party of keep fit enthusiasts wearing headtorches. The sea sighs gently. It has seen this all before. #Bournemouth #westcliff #winter #January
From 20th January 2019
It is one of those intensely cold January nights. A sort of damp cold just this side of frost but with the sort of knife edge to it that makes me think that once it chills me deep inside I will never get warm again. I pull my coat tight around me. The moon is hazed in high broken clouds so that there is a clear multi-coloured spectrum surrounding it. And then the clouds jostle aside rather like great silver ice bergs being moved apart by strange deep currents so that the moonlight is suddenly bright and clear, throwing black shadows among the pines and flattening out the street lights on the empty paths.