9th April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
dandelions push up in any little space at the side of the path or breaking through the tarmac.
Unless you’re a rabbit keeper or a country wine maker, dandelions probably don’t feature much in your thoughts. But yet this brave little flower underpins the majority of our flora. It can flower pretty much all the year round but later in May and June we will see a broad flush on them where the grass is short. Otherwise they push up in any little space at the side of the path or breaking through the tarmac. Their flowers are a gorgeous sunshine yellow with their cushion of rays imitating the sun. That pattern is repeated in its rosette of notched leaves. For me it is one of the important signs of spring. If you pick one its milky juice will stain your fingers brown but, more importantly, will cause you to wet the bed hence its country name pissabed and the French equivalent pis-en-lit. It is actually diuretic so there may be some justice in that rather unromantic name. But it can be used in all sorts of other ways and its root apparently was used in war time to make coffee. Under a blue sky with the strong Easter sun veiled by the mist hanging over the bay, the dandelion is worth looking out for.
From 9th April 2022
In the lengthening spring evening sounds have a particular plaintiveness - distant traffic, voices, the grumbling surf. The spirit of the West Cliff is in these. The air is cold and sweet. A playful little breeze chatters in your ears. The lights just off Old Harry show where the little tanker Witchampton is plying its regular journey between Poole and Fawley. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #Spring #April
From 9th April 2019
The rain is falling steadily from a uniform grey sky. Even with that I feel real joy in the windless spring evening. The tree branches spread the cascade into a fine hissing sound. Rounding the corner I suddenly hear the surf gently massaging the shore. It is the sort of twilight that Thomas Hardy describes at the beginning of "The Return of the Native" . High up on a branch a thrush breaks into its flutey twice repeated song "That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, "lest you think he never could recapture that first fine careless rapture (Robert Browning)
From 9th April 2015
Suddenly a big fog rolls in across the West Cliff from the sea. Tendrils reach along the gardens and in a matter of minutes the temperature drops and the bright sun is obscured.
8th April from the West Cliff, Bournemouth
People are determined to enjoy the first warmish day of the year despite the still fresh breeze. The sea is calm and quiet and the beach is populated with families enjoying the sand.
The benches are full of picnickers, smokers, thinkers, readers, social media -ers. Dogs curl up under the benches looking for a little shade. Although the sun is high, there is a veil of thin white clouds and a mist hangs over the bay. People are determined to enjoy the first warmish day of the year despite the still fresh breeze. The sea is calm and quiet and the beach is populated with families enjoying the sand. On a bare branch a wren gives it full beans. A mighty voice for such a small bird. A blackbird carols nearby and dozens of other small birds fill the gaps in the air. The gulls make shadows on the paths as they cross and recross. They are happy the picnickers are back. Wild carrot is growing tall. Pussy willow catkins make a yellowish green haze over their trees and the hawthorn leaves are bursting out. Pigeons coo.
From 8th April 2022
The rain has stopped. The wind has dropped. The uniform grey sky is breaking up and a watery sun is peeping through. A gull rides out the tiny waves at the surf's edge. The council have filled the air with the sweet smell of mown grass but somehow the mass of daisies have survived. A tiny tweeting which could be the first chiff chaff of the summer. The hazel bush has suddenly sprung into luxurious full leaf. A jay cruises through the low branches of the pines. Up to no good, no doubt. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #april.
From 8th April 2018
One swallow may not make a summer but the first house martin is a sign of better days to come.The ash tree buds are already bursting but this old oak is holding tight to its foliage so it looks as though we're in for a wet summer. The oak is 334 years old so obviously knows a thing or two.
7th April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The blue sky is smeared with white where the window cleaner has not quite finished his job.
The air is as fresh as a newly scrubbed doorstep almost ready to welcome the spring in at last. The blue sky is smeared with white where the window cleaner has not quite finished his job. The sun is strong but it is climbing higher in the sky so the dark shadows make different shapes from the stretched out long fingers of winter. Young mothers are sitting out on the benches and walkers of all denominations are out in force. A magpie tries out her complete repertoire of whistles, grunts and percussive sounds. The Barfleur disappears over the blue horizon en route to the Channel Islands.
From 7th April 2022
A ruffty-tuffty, raggedy roistering roughneck, roustabout wind. Big grey and white bulging clouds barelling across the blue sky. The sun shines cosily down when it can but all this playing peek-a-boo is obviously sapping its strength. The sea is green and starched into ruffles and feathers. The sand is blown billiard table flat by the wind. An almost unbroken sea of daisies cover the green grass. Green finches sing from every busy on the clifftop. ##bournemouth #westcliffgreen #April #spring
From 7th April 2021
A sharp frost and brief flurry of snow overnight leaves the grass sugared white. It is acutely cold and fingers are soon numb. A little chill breeze picks at the surface of the otherwise calm sea. The horizon is sharp and clean as there is not even the faintest wisp of cloud in the dazzling blue sky. A yellow splash of colour to the east and for a moment the sun is a magnificent gold half circle as it pulls itself above the horizon before then climbing on up into the crisp heaven above the dark bulk of the Isle of Wight. The long, low arm that is the Purbeck Hills is suddenly sparkling with tiny lights as the new sun reflects off distant windows.
6th April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sea is blue but the persistent chilly wind continues.
The blue sky is criss crossed with faint streaks of white cloud. The sea is blue but the persistent chilly wind continues. Shards of broken glass on the path sparkle and shine with as much briliance as the myriad rain drops that weigh heavily on the leaves of the grass. A lorry tipping gravel sounds the same as the wind in the trees, as the waves on the shore. Human and natural sounds blend together in one soundscape. A dunnock sits on a brance and watches me carefully. Bluebells are every where in sheltered spots. A wren sings a single verse of its twinkling song. A goat, looking for its brothers utters a low mournful bleat. Pigeons coo.
From 6th April 2022
The surf is breaking a good way off shore and then chasing up the beach in a froth of excitement. The wind is brisk and officious. A grey mist curtains off the bay. Bluebells have found all sorts of new places to mke an appearance. Blackbirds sing against the evening. ##bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #April
From 6th April 2021
The still air is bitterly cold. The frosted grass crunches underfoot. Only a whisper of wavelets disturb the glass smooth sea which stretches from brilliant silver at the flat sand to charcoal where it meets the tiny vague clouds on the far distant horizon. The predawn sky is the palest translucent blue shading to faint bands of pink and primrose where the sun may rise sometime soon. But already there to the southeast is the brilliant silver waning crescent of the moon.
5th April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Who’s that I can see through the trees. It’s Jarvis an old Pirate
Nippery snap goes Jarvis’ long metal claw as he fossicks about for every single butt end discarded around the bench. Jarvis, the old pirate, grizzled beard and headscarf. He used to play in a punk band. “We played the O2 once.” But now his rage against the machine has abated and he does his bit to hold back the tide of darkness from his little white Council van. He says people find it difficult to believe he had another life once. Didn’t we all. We discuss the names of the crows. He calls the one with the poorly wing “Tiny” and always tries to save a few scraps for him when the others aren’t looking. Jarvis tells the tale of another crow who ended up with a broken leg after a fight with some gulls. “More violence here than in Boscombe,” he observes as pigeons crows and gulls fight over the rubbish bags he is stowing away. He carefully smoothes another black bin bag into the rubbsh bin. And drives off. The sea is soothing under a grey sky. The air is filled with drizzle. A single pigeon feather is left on the path. The West Cliff is fit for another day because of Pirates like Jarvis.
From 5th April 2022
It's that liminal, transitional time between evening and night. The sky is pale but painted across with great exuberant swooshes of charcoal and purple clouds. It's light enough to see the hills and headland that define our bay. Yet it's dark enough for the lights to edge the view with jewel like brightness. The three lighthouses to the East, Hurst Point, The Needles and St Catherine's and the red dotted television transmitter towers. And to the West the the winking green and red markers for the channel leading into the harbour. The moon. a fat crescent, scuds in and out of the clouds. The sea is a restful white noise and the breeze is fresh and cheerful. Walkers on the path in front of me are silhouetted against the street lights, with haloes of golden light that makes them look like angels on their evening off. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #april
From 5th April 2010
The gulls sound sad and forlorn tonight. Presumably because the visitors have gone home and there are no more chips.
4th April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The celandines which have been closed up tight in the cold have taken a chance and burst out in golden masses among the clifftop grasses.
Today has all the hallmarks of spring: the blue sky, the soothing sea. We should be out here, lounging and enjoying the warmth but the icy wind still denies us that pleasure. Many of the flowers that gave up weeks ago are making a concerted effort to get on with things. The celandines which have been closed up tight in the cold have taken a chance and burst out in golden masses among the clifftop grasses. And today, the very first bluebell. The crow with the poorly wing seems to have survived another winter. Although he is shunned by his family he still manages. I think, the fact that he allowed me to get close enough to take a series of portraits means that he has become reliant on human contact for food and company.
From 4th April 2022
Up close, the flowers of gorse can look a sharp, acid yellow, but en masse they throw an extrordinary golden cloak over the miles of cliff face here. They accompany you at shoulder height along the clifftop path but look down at the floor of the old quarry workings and you see one of the great spectacles of the West Cliff - drifts of gold, A great shining bowl enough to satisfy any Midas. The air is quieter but still fresh. The bay is of a pale green under a formless grey sky. But spring pushes on. Ivy is covered in a mass of small, fresh leaves and shoots, contrasting with the dark green of the old leaves. In the grassy banks there is red dead nettle, yarrow and little pink campions. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #April
From 4th April 2011
Iittle lobster boat just shooting pots out in the bay beautifully framed by two pine trees. If I had a camera I would be a photographer. Come to that if I was a photographer I'd probably have a camera.
3rd April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sun is bright and has just divested herself of the last few veils of muslin clouds.
The sea is blue. The little waves lap against the shore. They have made friends again after the spiteful to-ing and fro-ing of the last few weeks. The sun is bright and has just divested herself of the last few veils of muslin clouds. But the Ice Queen is not giving up yet and her icy polar breath makes it uncomfortable to sit out. But the first buttercups have decided to spite her and opened a little display that is saying: “Come on spring, hurry up.”
From 3rd April 2022
Beside the clifftop path, pale green leaves are beginning to clothe the bare blackberry brambles. The corrugated sea is marching rows of little waves up the shore. Slabs and hanks of grey cloud cover the sky. It is still bitter in the hurrying breeze. A pigeon coos. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #April
2nd April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
one of the brown and white eastern most goats becomes unusually friendly and tries to eat my mobile with his prehensile tongue
A cold wind. The sea lands with a gentle, rhythmic swoosh and the swell has quietened down but still advances on the shore in pencil straight lines. By the afernoon the heavy clouds have retreated somewhat and the sun tries to beat the cold. A fat wood pigeon sits on the gate safely out of reach while one of the brown and white eastern most goats becomes unusually friendly and tries to eat my mobile with his prehensile tongue. Voices carry clearly on the April afternoon air. The shadows long and the banks of three sided leeks are lush and strong. The intense waft of garlick is making my eyes stream. Almost every small bird is singing today. Magpies chack and crows croak.
From 2nd April 2022
The heavy, garlicky scent from the banks of three sided leeks hangs in the air and makes me sneeze. A snappy little breeze hurries us along. The waves are small and stiffly righteous. The sky is a spring-time mixture of pale blue and big bubbly grey and white clouds which hide the sun. A man chivvies his spaniel through the trees. Its name is "Item". Tiny blue speedwells smile up cheerfully through the blades of long grass. ##bournemouth #westcliffgreen ##spring #april
From 2nd April 2019
The fresh breeze has swept the big blocks of rain cloud away to the east. The rain is pouring steadily over the Isle of Wight. But here the sun has burst through with an intense blue sky accented with a jumble of ragged grey wisps and puffy white clouds that presage the summer. The sea is a breath taking shimmering sheet of silver lamé . A robin sings from somewhere in the depths of the holm oak on the clifftop.
From 2nd April 2014
On the rain wetted street the dustcart stands empty, orange lights flashing to warn no-one in particular, engine purring to itself. It is trying to tell me something if only i could catch that fleeting... no, it's gone.
1st April from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Although the big leaves are growing up wildly, the flowers are, as yet, small and closed away.
The sea keeps grumbling away. A big swell is throwing the waves high up on the beach but they are more organised, neater than they have been. From time to time the rain cascades down in big gouts. Everything is covered in drops of moisture. And although the big leaves are growing up wildly, the flowers are, as yet, small and closed away. We now have two flocks of pigeons. Our own fat and sleek wood pigeons and the ones from the town in motley colours and thin and hungry looking. From the gorse the small birds are trying to organise a concert. Robins, blackbirds, wrens, great tits and blue tits and, possibly, a chiff chaff. The first I’ve heard this year. And then the rain comes down again and everyone runs for shelter.
From 1st April 2022
As soon as the bumpy bitter breeze abates and the weak sun peeps through the bullying grey clouds, there is some warmth in the afternoon. The retreating spring tide leaves a series of elliptical pools on the sand which reflect back silver as neat as handbag mirrors. Now the flowing water is making a thousand tiny glittering wavelets as it climbs slowly back. The flower of this spring sems to be the bluebell which is growing upin patches in all sorts of places that they do not usually appear. Whilst they are not in flower yet, they are everywhere on the clifftop and in the longer grass under the trees following the profusion of three sided leeks. Daisies sugar the whole of the stretches of short grass. #bournemouth ##westcliffgreen ##spring #April
From 1st April 2014
A chill wind and a restless sea. The promenade lights like a chain of gold around the bay. The hotels and apartments lit up like great liners lying at anchor. Through the windows lives are being lived. Deserted clifftop paths lit by pools of light. Whilst above pricking the deep navy sky the constellations wink knowingly at me.
Later
Overnight the great cloud of Saharan dust has arrived in Bournemouth. Layer upon layer it's building up into considerable dunes. The only things flourishing are the palms along the promenade which I see are laden with green dates already. Travellers in long robes and scarves around their faces against the sandstorm trudge across the sandy wastes leading strings of swaying hump-backed pack animals on their way from the exotic Eastern parts of the borough. A little group have camped overnight outside overnight tethering their beasts to the pines. The blue smoke from their fire mingles with the interminable red dust. The dunes continue on for mile after mile.
31st March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
It is the sort of soft light that gives equal brilliance to all the green clours, the dark green of the pine branches and the mid green of the long grass and the yellow green of the patches recovering from the long forgotten drought.
After a night of torrential downpours and howling gales, the wind and rain continued all morning. The sea is at its tumultuous mightiest creating a rich roaring noise blotting out every other sound. The big breakers crashing onto the beach. Now the wind in the tree tops makes a great rushing noiseto match the sea. This is not by any means the biggest gale we’ve had on the West Cliff but it somehow sems more searching, reaching in among the quiet, still spots under the trees. Everything is in motion, blades of grass, ivy hanging from the tree trunks, the small bushes. The grass is brilliant emerald green this morning lit by the dispersed light from the sun through the cloud cover. It is the sort of soft light that gives equal brilliance to all the green clours, the dark green of the pine branches and the mid green of the long grass and the yellow green of the patches recovering from the long forgotten drought. And out in the bay, half hidden in the mist the P&O Pioneer rides out the big swell.
From 31st March 2022
The BBC weatherman said that the cold snap would put spring on hold. Indeed there has been a searingly bitter wind and throughout the day there have been flurries of grains of icy hail and sleet. But nature is a powerful force. Once spring has been urged along there is no stopping it or slowing it. Despite the wind a greenfinch sings its fresh spring song from the topmost branch or a leafless bush. Other birds will not be stopped from singin either. The sea is almost smooth and reflects the pale blue of the sky. Men of all ages are wearing shorts despite the temperature. It is, apparantly a fashion. The small flowers are pushing upwards. As sunset approaches there are smudges of purple cloud. which are painted a a deep orangey brown. As darkness gathers real snow begins to chase up and down before the wind. #Bournemouth #westclifffgreen #spring #march
From 31st March 2021
A thin veil of mist hangs in the fresh air. No sign of the sun behind the uniform grey cloud cover. Every sound seems still and softened. The sea luxuriates on the beach. A robin comes to stand on the rail next to my hand. Then moves to a branch where he can get a better view of me, head cocked on one side. Tiny black beads of eyes asking all the questions it might want answered about someone like me. For once March is going out as lamblike as it came in. Just a degree or two warmer.
30th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The sun sends shafts of brilliant light down between the clouds which polish the grey sea in patches like the work of a drunken butler on the silver ware.
Under a lumpy grey sky the wind is bracing and the blue-green sea is doing its own thing. The sun sends shafts of brilliant light down between the clouds which polish the grey sea in patches like the work of a drunken butler on the silver ware. Someone sits alone contemplating the clouds and the hurrying green waters of the bay. It is striking how the pines erupt straight up out of the ground without any apparent roots. No wonder they are pushed over so easily. It is the hay-fever season and these are the culprits. Fat pigeons coo and magpies chatter from low branches.
From 30th March 2022
It is still light when I go out this evening. The air is windless but biting cold. The sky lours oppressively. Out in the bay a thick fog obscures the Purbeck Hills and the Isle of Wight. The sea is slate green grey and calm but fritters away at the edge. Smudged chalk marks on the path. I can still make out a face like a dustbin and a giant hopscotch grid. The evening chorus is in full swing and there are so many voices I cannot make out individuals. The gulls are wailing in the distance. People on the benches sit curled in on themselves. The short grass is covered by an endless carpet of daisies that seem to glow in the half light. The lights show up bright from the cafe at the bottom of the Chine. The evening closes in. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #March
From 30th March 2021
The sky is clear and the air is bitingly cold. A few clouds, already pink edged in anticipation of the sun. A heavy dew weighs down the early flowers and covers the grass. The sea stretches and purrs like a cat on a hearthrug. Pigeons coo and the small birds are beginning to warm up in the bushes. Just then the sun emerges over the horizon, a brilliant gold disc which beams instant warmth to the dawn.
29th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
From the Green it is impossible to see either the sea on one side, or the buildings of the town on the others.
Heavy, thick fog. Like a muslin wrap, concealing the landscape and hung among the trees making walking through them an adventure where bears could appear at any moment. From the Green it is impossible to see either the sea on one side, or the buildings of the town on the others. Although strange sounds fill the air their origins cannot be identified. They may be the wheeze of greenfinches or the wail of gulls or, just as likely for today, a mysterious music; the Green is Prospero’s Island cut off from the rest of the world.
From 29th March 2022
Here on the clifftop it's sometimes difficult to tell whether it's low cloud or heavy mist or light fog. Haar, sea fret; there are so many different ways of describing this penomenon and they all have different atmospheric causes. Today, it's low cloud, moving silently through the branches of the trees whilst, down on the beach, it's comparatively clear. The overnight rain has meant that there are big silver drops in the crook of al the new, long leaves of grasses and three sided leeks. The sea is calm and the small birds are all singing from the bushes. That might even be a goldfinch I can hear. A pigeon coos. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #March
From 29th March 2021
Although there is a fine drizzle and low grey cloud there is a strange clarity as trees and bushes emerge from the gloom. And there is colour, too. Muted and pastel but colour all the same. The grey green sea stretching far out to the horizon is lined with a neat band of white surf against the palest of yellow strips of sand. out of the breeze, beneath the trees there is dead stillness broken only by the cooing of the pigeons. The garlic sccented three sided leeks are coming into flower en masse. On the zig zag, massively bethighed young men run up and down for some reason only known to them.
28th March from the West C;iff Green, Bournemouth
Rows of yellow and blue flags were set out across the green and groups of earnest looking students and bored lecturers cluster round the levels and reflectors on orange tripods.
The forecast said light winds and drizzle but in between the short gaps between the torrential, slanting downpours, the wind had whipped itself into a significant gale. Walkers have to make a determined effort as they head for the sea. Under they relentless grey sky the sea had whipped itself into what is called a confused state with the wave churning into a white melee for hundreds of metres off shore. Two fat wood pigeons were hunkered down in the lee of a holm oak whilst the gulls screamed in delight overhead. Every year The Architecture department of an East London University come down to the beach to practise the art of surveying. Rows of yellow and blue flags were set out across the green and groups of earnest looking students and bored lecturers cluster round the levels and reflectors on orange tripods. Hieroglyphics are marked on the path in yellow chalk. Dealing with such elemental weather must be all part of what they need to cope with in their career.
From 28th March 2022
A soft evening. Warmer than it has been. The paths are empty. The sea keeps up it's restful tempo but then is chivvied along by a small wind that hurries me homeward. Drops of rain start to patter and it's raining quite hard by the time I reach my front door.
From 28th March 2019
The air is crisp and sweet as a cox's orange pippin tonight. The small waves are having a low conversation with the beach. Passers by in ones and twos, emerge into the pools of light on the promenade and disappear again into the darkness. A crowd of youngsters have a fire going and are dancing and laughing. Others are using up energy by doing strange gyrations under the cruel eyes of personal trainers. Out in the bay a Chinook is prowling up and down doing … but shh I'm not at liberty to say... whatever it is the SBS do between tea time and lights out. In one of the hotels a balcony door thumps shut and a light springs on. I stand on tiptoe trying to see what people in hotels get up to. Reading Proust or J.P. Sartre I should imagine.
From 28th March 2018
The Beast from the East's naughty kid sister may be pinching my ears but the birds of the West Cliff have decided there's no point hanging about and they must get on with the business of the year. The fading spring evening is full of the song of robins, Jenny wrens, dunnocks, blackbirds, thrushes giving their syrinxes a thrashing molto fortissimo. And then, in the brief time it takes for me to emerge from the trees, the evening light cross fades with the silver moonlight and all falls silent except for the restless murmur of the waves on the sand.
From 28th March 2012
There is only one word to describe the sea this morning - blue. An almost luminous blue stretching away to a delicately tinted pink sky. The twisted pine tree, black in silhouette against the blue is suddenly splashed with bright orange as the sun clambers up over the horizon.
Later
Another fabulous August day. The sea is blue under an azure sky. The sun is beating down warmly on the sand where children play. I shall have another paddle later on. This summer holiday goes on and on…
From 28th March 2011
Greater spotted woodpecker drumming in the trees behind the flats and clearly heard above Monday morning traffic. Yaffle yaffling hysterically. Blackbird, tits, chaffinch, dunnock. Even a flycatcher in the bushes. Yep, spring in the City of Sin by the Sea
From 28th March 2010
A delicate dove grey mist cossets the hill tops. It traces through the traceries of the tree tops, The road is polished silver in the rain and the cold raindrops refresh tired eyes. A beautiful evening.
27th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Along the side of the path a large clump of mallow joins all the other large leafed green plants such as thistles and wild carrot.
The year is clinging on to the cold for as long as it can. A sharp wind and grey, lumpy sky. The green sea slumps onto the beach as if it is tired of the whole thing. Gulls call, pigeons coo. Robins sing. After lunch the sun does manage to break through for a little while but walkers demand more and shiver in the cliff top shelter. Along the side of the path a fine clump of mallow joins all the other large leafed green plants such as thistles and wild carrot. The Common Mallow is the ancestor of the hollyhock and lavatera a favourite of gardeners and will grow to over a metre tall. Sadly this one will be felled next time the council workers tidy up the edge of the path. The air is filled with the scent of three cornered leeks and the fine yellow powder of pine pollen.
From 27th March 2022
A warm day and a cold evening. Picnickers now spread their tartan rugs on the grass. The first Green Woodpecker I have heard this year. Its laughing call gives it its common name of yaffle. A small clump of Star of Bethlehem pokes through the clifftop fence to decorate the path. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #March
From 27th March 2014
Slowly, tantalisingly, the day eases out of the darkness. The sea and sky meet in a sombre pewter backdrop to the still black trees on the cliff. Now cloud edges emerge against the palest of blue skies. Orange street lights still light the empty paths across the green. It is my day and I am in it alone.
26th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A pair of Herring gulls eye each other up in another of their odd courtship dances.
After a night of rain, the morning is dull and drizzly. The sun manages to appear coyly behind a veil of clouds but not enough to add any warmth to the cold air. The grass glisten with millions of water droplets that shimmer in what little sunshine there is. The sound of greenfinches is everywhere from the thickets. A pair of Herring gulls eye each other up in another of their odd courtship dances. They stare at each other then one of them does a little lap in the air and they pretend to ignore each other before revesing the process. So like human beings. There is a sizeable swell out on the bay but it seems to peter out of power and is reduced to tiny lapping waves at the shore line.
From 26th March 2022
The cold wind has returned after a two day rest. But the sun climbs higher in the clear sky every day so that to walk on the cliff top feels like a space walk by an astronaut who suffers searing heat on her side turned to the sun whilst the other side, only a few centimetres away, she expeiences the burning cold of deep space. For us, here on earth the air and the wind alleviates this abrupt temperature gradient and it is, for the most part, a glorious spring day. What's more, there are no small birds or goats in space. So we score there as well. Of course, there is the constellation Capricornus. But that is the smallest of the constellations and visible in the September night sky. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #March #spring #Capricorn
From 26th March 2021
Our new North Sea sand is still damp so is untroubled by the sharp breeze, but the old, fine, dry sand is being whipped up into a mini blizzard along the prom. The breeze torments it into eddies and vortices that swirl round your legs so that the sand gets into shoes, socks and every fibre of your clothing. The trick is to walk away from the rasping turmoil, hood up and shoulders hunched. On the pier the air is clearer and the white cap waves race by towards the shore.
25th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A pale green blackberry leaf gives us all hope for a future harvest.
The sea is rugged and green with big white caps. The wind is strong and galey. The grey clouds huddle together as if trying to pluck up courage to produce rain. Occasionally the sun shoulders them aside but they’re not going to be put off so easily and soon wrestle the sun away. So far, the spring seems timid and half-hearted but the banks continue with their displays of small flowers. A little patch of grape hyacinths hide among the daffodils. A pale green blackberry leaf gives us all hope for a future harvest.
From 25th March 2022
I'm not a rat expert but I do occasionally see the cheeky little fellows making a quick foray out of the undergrowth. As I did this afternoon poking its nose out from under a clifftop gorse bush. I believe this was a Black Rat as it possessed a fine, glossy, dark chocolate coat and was much smaller and nimbler than the "giant rat swam up my toilet" which is the Brown rat. Although they do a lot of damage and do carry some diseases you cannot but be charmed by their bright eyed, alert behaviour. After all we have taken other pests and nuisances to our hearts. Grey squirrels do a lot of damage and are reputed to prevent red squirrels making a come back..Foxes create real nuisances as do gulls. Magpies terrorise our song birds and deer are out of control in many woodlands, destroying young trees before they can establish. The question is, where do we do draw the nuisance line? #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #march
From 25th March 2021
A thin, high blanket of grey keeps the sun indoors. Occasionally he peeps out and sends brilliant rays down to form brilliant puddles of light and a broad pathway on the sea. Far out on the bay a tiny dot is a lone paddleboarder heading off towards Studland. The chill is keeping most of the wildlife at home today but plants are taking the opportunity to get established in the world. clumps of mallow and patches of cranesbill are growing upwards and outwards but we won't see their flowers yet. Elsewhere pink dead nettles and oxalis brighten up the shady places. Everywhere is the warm, comforting scent of garlic. Our variety, the three sided leek, is beginning to shake out its white bluebell like flowers.
24th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The big, blustery breeze has blown itself into half a gale. It sends the bubbling, raggedy grey clouds bowling across the patches of blue.
The big, blustery breeze has blown itself into half a gale. It sends the bubbling, raggedy grey clouds bowling across the patches of blue. The sun is having a poor time of it today From time to time manages to brighten things up and briefly warms the trees but it is, at best, a watery facsimile of itself. A curtain of mist has been drawn across the bay. The sea is a jagged grey blue under a grey blue sky and the surf is getting itself into a frenzy on the beach. The sound phases in and out like radio static. A robin sits on a high leafless branch facing to the wind and singing a song so different from its usual repetoire. It is a song of swoops and high trills, complicated runs and whistles. I have never heard a song like that before. It is as though the bird is experimenting with its voice out of pure joy.
From 24th March 2022
Greenfinches have extended their limited repertoire to include all sorts of trills and warbles into their song. Every clifftop gorse bush seems to house at least one. Meanwhile, on the other side of the Green, every spare branch seems to be the singing podium for the accomplished Dunnocks. And filling in the gaps are all the rest of the spring time orchestra. The air is fresh, not quite windless but a degree or two warmer than it has been. The waves are regular and soothing. I spent an hour sitting on a bench and talking to a visitor from Luton called Sanjay who has come back to visit the resort where his family came every year when he was a child. We discussed his mother's chapattis (apparently the best in the world), where to eat in Bournemouth (He recommended the Lahore in Old Christchurch Road and Norwegian Wood for breakfast). We also touched on homelessness and race relations but mostly just enjoyed the late afternoon spring sunshine because that is what the West Cliff Green is for. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #march
From 24th March 2021
Flat, grey. Flat grey and cold. Flat grey and cold but the birds are busting themselves cheering the day up with their song. Go outside and listen. I mean, just stand and listen. Above the traffic and the construction work you'll hear birdsong.
From 24th March 2014
I have been working inside all day. The instant I determine to go out and buy something for tea - the heavens heave open. Nasty, cold, wetting rain blows along the street. Hunger or a soaking? What would you choose?
23rd March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A strong buffeting wind crumples the sea up like an old crisp packet. The jagged ridges of of water snarl against the sand and try to smother it in a mass of white.
A strong buffeting wind crumples the sea up like an old crisp packet. The jagged ridges of of water snarl against the sand and try to smother it in a mass of white. A crow barks at a passing dog. Another crow watches me approach from the rail and only flies off as I reach it with a look of complete disdain. The sky is covered in broken slate grey clouds that allow the sun very occasional glimpses of the world below. The patches where the grass was scorched in the drought last summer are now obvious as the lush green grow up around them but daisies have colonised them in profusion. The first mass of flowers are in the sheltered places where the three cornered leeks grow but even here the wind rakes them flat.
From 23rd March 2022
The wind has dropped and the sun has shone all day. But the air is still spring fresh and the waves land with a regular swoosh on the flat sand. Suddenly, everyone decides it's summer and the grass is dotted with people lying out reading, exercising or just enjoying the sun. The paths are filled with amblers and strollers. But it is still early in the year and by the time the sun has gone it is bitterly cold and the West Cliff is empty again. The blackbird finishes its evensong and all is quiet again. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #March
From 23rd March 2021
In the grey dawn a little procession of rattling, banging bulldozers and excavators drag the big rusty iron sand pipes to a new location further down the beach. Meanwhile the tugs and workboats out in the bay perform an intricate ballet adagio to reposition the undersea connector pipes. The new sand has been graded and levelled by the machinery; now, it only needs the work of the sea and thousands of human feet for the final smoothing and planishing. On the clifftop the twittering and warbling of small birds is so dense it is impossible to tell one individual from another. A pigeon, fed up with just sitting and cooing, swoops off and claps his wings with a sharp report in the cold morning air.
22nd March fromthe West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Gulls cross high against the hazy sun.
Gulls cross high against the hazy sun. There is a chilly breeze and a mist out on the bay. It’s the equinoctial high spring tide and the angry sea is racing into the shore and frothing the white waves into a frenzy. The sound of the waves is loud and joins the wind in the tree tops to make a mighty sibilant hiss like a great boiler venting it’s power. The wind rakes the new green grass into order and drives the dry leaves of the holm oaks skittering about the path. It feels remarkably like autumn but where the goats have been working hard to cut back the taller growth on the cliffs, the spring greenery is showing through in the new found light.
From 22nd March 2022
The sun is bright. the shadows between the trees are dark. The breeze is crisp and sweet. The little waves march in upon the beach in an orderly fashion. A blue haze softens the outline of the Purbeck Hills and the Isle of Wight. The green foliage of spring and summer plants is pushing through the long grass. Clumps of mallow, wild carrot, tall nettles, acanthus. The robins are singing a shorter song than their winter attempts to keep our sprits up. But it is a more musical and complex effort. Childrens voices echo up from the Chine. Pigeons coo. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #March
From 22nd March 2021
The air is still cold with the sun only occasionally peeping one eye out from beneath his quilt of grey clouds and beaming down a brassy puddle on the still waters. The bay is alive with activity. Apart from our cruise liners and fishing and work boats, there is the Cotentin setting off for France and the Willem van Oranje heading off for the North Sea having unloaded its sand on the shore. Bulldozers and excavators scurry about distributing the piles of new sand before the workers climb down and head off for their breakfasts. The bushes are mad with small birds: dunnocks, warblers, green finches, robins. Each vying for best song perch at the top of a gorse bush or on an old, bare branch. As I turn to head back, a warm moment of sunshine casts a long shadow behind me.
21st March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Flowers that were fully open yeasterday are closed up tight. The bright yellow stick of a crane on the Riviera bulding site stretches way up into the firmament as if in compensation.
The wind is snappy and cold even though it is coming from the south. The gulls are riding high, swerving and swooping on th the updraughts against the white and grey lumpy clouds. There are occasional signs of blue. But it doesn’t feel very spring-like. Flowers that were fully open yeasterday are closed up tight. The bright yellow stick of a crane on the Riviera bulding site stretches way up into the firmament as if in compensation. The sea is busy rushing on but never seeming to get anywhere. A party of multicoloured town pigeons are visiting today. They have a mean and hungry look and huddle together as if uncertain of what sort of welcome they will get here. Our own wood pigeons are fat and robust and eat from the grass like a party of potentates feasting in a grand banquet.
From 21st March 2022
The breeze has dropped to a whisper. The sun is warm in a milky, blue sky but there is a hazy mist that fills the spaces between the trees and trails across the bay. The three sided leeks, our version of wild garlic, is spreading its heady scent across the ground between the rhododendrons. A quiet day, but concentrate and the whole of the West Cliff is alive with sound. Of course, the rush and sigh of the surf, the distant squabbling and keening of the gulls, the continual overlapping of the song of small birds, croaking magpies. But keep listening; the distant buzz of a helicopter out in the haze somewhere, the throb of a fishing boat, someone hammering on the building site below the cliffs. Voices laughing. But all of this faint and dispersed so that you are hardly aware of the rich and complex soundscape that surrounds you. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #march
From 21st March 2021
Bournemouth is a town built on sand. Our seven (or is it eight?) miles of sandy beaches have been attracting visitors for two hundred years. They are, apparently, the finest beaches in Southern England, Or Europe. Or the world. Depending on how you judge these things. But the sands also protect the town from the steadily rising sea. Without them, the waves would soon be gnawing at our fragile cliffs. So, the sand is being renourished. Two dredgers are shuttling backwards and forwards from the mysterious Area 501 in the middle of the North Sea bringing us their golden bounty. Massive iron tubes connect the dredgers (Willem Van Oranje and the Scheldt River) to the shore which disgorge their nourishment rather like an enormous Herring Gull disgorging its lunch for its young. And indeed, a crowd of gulls are mad with excitement paddling in the slurry delighted by the North Sea treats it contains.
From 21st March 2016
The old long case clock is ticking again. It was made in 1806, 5 years before Jane Austen published Sense and Sensibility, George the Third was still on the throne, Napoleon had been beaten at Trafalgar the year previously but was still causing trouble, Wordsworth finished the first version of The Prelude and so on. It is a humble country clock made in Alresford Hants with a painted dial and has been in my family for at least a hundred and fifty years. It will go on to Holly when I die. It is amazing to be part of such a chain and how I love lying in bed hearing its steady beat throughout the night, friendly, reassuring. Let us applaud clock-makers because clocks are more than the measure of our time on earth.