Almonds?

The yellow of the gorse has faded over the past week, pausing at rich gold, on its way to brown. A small scattering of foals have been delivered and alternate feeding and sleeping, much in the manner of human infants.

The bees have transferred their attention to my pyracantha.

The Forest tracks are used by a variety of critters

bitten, not stirred

Four days of sailing as the temperature slowly increased and the wind speed abated. A trip that took us East up the Solent and back again. As well as visiting some new places, the trip was a minor shake-down for the crew to assess readiness for greater things and to confer some fitness by firming muscles and hardening hands. The third day was the longest at about 8 hours, largely taken downwind on the way back West to Cowes and I have to say it engendered extremely satisfying sleep on Sunday night. As is often the case, it was the things that went wrong that punctuated the journey that stick in the mind.

There is a worrying trend towards uniformity in the running of the Solent's marinas. Everything is computer controlled. It is obvious how these marinas, bought up in bulk by large holding companies, make their money. They charge impressive sums for use of their space, they diversify into waterside property, they replace humans with robots and sell concessions to the highest bidder. This leaves the visitor, however efficient and clean the facilities are, with a feeling of being processed, rather than welcome.

Chichester marina is such a place; I had to provide all my personal details except my inside-leg measurement before being allowed through their lock. On entry to the lock I had thrust into my hand three booklets, an access tag and a sheet of hand-filled paper consisting of a map and the usual mooring details. If this simple map with its human annotation had been complete and accurate it would have been a wonder, but the line indicating the berth was too thick and on a first visit it is not entirely a simple thing to orientate ones-self on a map whilst concentrating on the rise of water in a lock and the movement of the three other vessels in there. To add joy to this mildly disorientating experience, the prop-shaft anode decided to make a bid for freedom at his point, although of course we didn't find out the cause of the noise until later.

Chichester marina's fine map shows a road that runs around the perimeter of the site, but isn't ever so clear about whether the lock itself is passable by pedestrians. It has an arrow indicating a convenience store. Sadly, with its human annotation and its (relative) charm, this map contains some historic detail which might mislead. The convenience store has been upgraded to a marine super-store stocking everything you could want (with a high margin) to get you onto the water and keep you safe and comfortable there. Inconveniently this store now only opens normal shop hours. It stocks one brand of semi-skimmed, over-advertised milk. On our visit, 9:10 on a Sunday, it had no bread.

Just before embarking on this short odyssey I took a flying run round the garden, in my sandals and waving a camera. Ten minutes of carelessness. On our first day afloat on the first short voyage I had an itch that I noticed whilst helming, back of my left knee. Wearing jeans and controlling a yacht in the lively but pleasant conditions of the day did not permit investigation and I forgot the minor irritation until dressed for bed. Inevitably after my last piece, I had been bitten by a tick; it came out fairly simply.

An excursion to hang the first load of washing this morning revealed that summer is moving quickly on. The cotoneaster has lost its buzz; the lily of the valley is half over. I was greeted by a curious hornet, noisy, orange. Last week I saw my first young blackbird and whilst excavating roots disturbed a stag-beetle larva.

Stung. Not bitten

05:38, wasn't bad by recent standards and I lay, light beginning to creep in, aware that my inner right ankle was itching.

We live in a forest, domestic animals mix with wilder ones; both visit gardens and one of the upshots of this is that even doing a bit of gentle weeding holds the threat of deer ticks and any diseases they might be harbouring. After a day gardening then it is of some interest when an itch comes along, it prompts thought, rather than simple idle scratching.

Cosy and, with my ankle seemingly too far away to reach easily I scratched gently with my left heel callous. The sensation of touch brought back the cause. The previous afternoon I had brushed my bare ankle with the fresh foliage of pulled nettles as I worked to extract as much root as possible. It was a healing itch, an almost pleasant sensation, but one I had to avoid scratching.

Reassured, but not back to sleep. The six o'clock trains rumbled, I broke for the washing-up, Radio 4's early news, watching the passage of gold tits from tree top to top and the post Jurassic ambling of jackdaws probing the fresh-mown grass for food.

vortex scentral

Just at the back of the house, in a sheltered spot, it is difficult to guess which scent will arrive next. A playful breeze whips around, carrying mixed florals and new-cut grass. The cotoneaster hums with happy honey bees and has underplanting of ragged robin and cranesbill geranium; both self sown. I reach through the rough branches to snip tendrils of ivy trying to make for the roof. The bees don't seem to mind.

Neglect has a dual effect on the garden. Some features spoil of course, stronger plants push out the more delicate and fussy. Nature creates its own beauty though and, while trying to make up for too much neglect and bring some old beds back to cultivation it is hard to remove the wild accidents, the happy chaos. Weeding is in the eye of the beholder, considering that weeds are plants in the wrong place. I aim to tame and train, rather than delete heavily and impose my own order.

In the last six weeks I think I've found every football that my children ever owned. I suppose this must happen, given that they are not biodegradable and we never threw them away. Lodged underneath box hedging seems to be the popular spot. Less welcome in the hedging are bramble and field maple, but I forgive the phormiums and aquilegia.

New tea-towel

After sailing an old (but not yet vintage) yacht for a couple of years, the shortcomings of the original main sail had become apparent. Raising the main was closer to hanging out half a large tea-towel, cut corner to corner, than it was to applying more power or direction to travel.

After a particularly fortunate investment decision provided the funds an investment in boat futures was made and, after a couple of small problems, installed. Yesterday was the first opportunity to test this new arrangement. In a force 3 to 4, and a very calm sea thanks to the wind being largely South Easterly, we sailed about nine miles, there and back. Raising the main (after fiddling with the new cars that get stuck on the old sprung slot) is more like erecting a wing in the middle of the boat. Lots of power, very quickly.

It's going to be a fun year finding out how this behaves in heavier conditions.

New

Forest Foal