We tend to tune in to local BBC radio stations when we’re away in Guillaume, for weather forecasts, mainly. Whilst listening to BBC Radio Solent, we heard them banging on about what seems to be a minor historic event. and today’s the day. At about 5:15 AM, all three of Cunard’s fleet, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Victoria and Queen Mary 2 sailed into Southampton Water. The three are together to mark the 10th anniversary of the Cunard flagship, QM2.

As a person not into matters maritime, I found the most interesting aspect stemming from the discussions by various contributors to be the drawing of a distinction between ships and liners. QM2 is, apparently, an ocean liner; actually the world’s only currently serving ocean liner. On the other hand, her two sisters, Queen Victoria and Queen Elizabeth, are cruise ships. Good ol’ BBC Radio Solent presenters were nattering to QM2’s designer who explained that the difference lies in the design and construction. Liners are much more strongly built with a thicker hull, in QM2’s case up to 38mm of steel, whereas cruise ships are more lightly (and more cheaply) constructed with something more like 18mm of steel in the hull. There are other design differences, such as a liner having a deeper draught for stability, and wave-piercing bows but these various differences really stem from usage. Liners are designed to carry passengers from A to B in all weathers, the classic journey being a north Atlantic crossing. The cruise ships are more of a booze cruise affair, taking hoards of drunken, over-fed tourists around the Mediterranean or Caribbean ports. Live and learn!

We weren’t up at the crack of sparrow fart to see the spectacular arrival of all three Queens but we did pop down to Hythe, which lies opposite Southampton docks, to have a look at the ships in port. Southampton harbour being a less than attractive setting, frankly I was underwhelmed, but here’s a snap anyway, just for the record. (That’s Queen Victoria distant left, QM2 stern on dead centre and Queen Elizabeth on the right.)

After staring at the three floating hotels for a while, we headed out for Lepe Country Park but the high winds at the coast made the prospect of getting out of the car and walking somewhat less than appealing. Instead, we continued along the country lane that is the coast road at this point and eventually drove into Exbury, whereupon Francine mentioned Exbury Gardens. Exbury Gardens is another of the Rothschild estates, this one formerly of Lionel de Rothschild.  There being little better in prospect by way of diversion, even I, a non-gardener, suggested we might go in for a visit. While we were parked attacking our lunch, we were entertained by an charismatic narrow gauge steam locomotive called Mariloo tasked with pulling open carriages loaded with tourists around part of the estate.

Lionel de Rothschild devoted his estate to his botanical passion, the rhododendron. Exbury Gardens now looks like a living rhododendron museum. Westonbirt may be the National Arboretum but this place would richly deserve the tag, National Rhododendron Collection. The sheer number and variety, in terms of colours and sizes, of this Victorian-led invasive species on show here is nothing short of jaw-dropping. Invasive or not, I could understand the Victorian attraction to these plants and even I had to admit that the display was very attractive, despite some of the specimens being well past their best. From above, I imagine the garden would resemble a 2km² (my estimate) artist’s palette. Francine even found a couple of patches of two orchid species, one of which was certainly Green-winged Orchid, growing in a couple of areas. The garden also had number of very well executed water features but we won’t mention dragonflies, this time. 😀

I’m struggling to think of a more impressive garden that I’ve seen. Of course, I haven’t actually seen that many. We do live near a couple of other former Rothschild properties, though, and Exbury certainly puts them in the shade.

From about 7:00 AM until 12:30 PM today the rain was solid and frequently heavy. We hid in Guillaume until it abated, then headed to our favourite local pub, the Hare and Hounds in Sway, for another lunch. This is becoming a habit.

While we’re hiding in Guillaume, Guillaume makes a very reasonable wildlife hide. Forget camouflage colouring – why on earth do people waste money on those ridiculous camouflage jackets for telephoto lenses? – the only design improvement Guillaume really needs to make him an admirable wildlife hide is a set of optically perfect windows instead of the plastic double-glazed affairs typical of caravans. Of course, in a half-way decent climate, one could probably sit with the window open and have nothing between lens and subject. We’ve had quite a collection of bird life but we’ve also been visited by several other forest dwellers, too. We did what we could to record them albeit through our plastic windows.

The New Forest has, I believe, four species of deer: Red Deer, Fallow Deer, Sika Deer and Roe Deer. Guillaume’ has been visited by two of these. First, a group, which e think was a bachelor group, of Fallow Deer, with their longer tails sporting a black dorsal stripe, have been wandering by, usually in the early evenings.

Secondly, Guillaume has had slightly less frequent visits by the smaller Roe Deer with a pale patch on their backsides. This one is a buck and appears to be in some sort of moulting condition, looking at his neck and body. Presumably a female is a Roe doe (or maybe a Roe-de-oh-doe, if you can figure the music out for yourselves).

As well as the ground feeding birds, such as Chaffinches, cleaning up the crumbs dropped from our bird feeder, we’ve been watching an endearing little rodent helping them clean up. We think this little character is a Bank Vole. |To supplement its diet, we chopped up some apple finely and scattered that. Watching the little character snatch pieces of apple and scurry away with them was most entertaining.

One late afternoon, a Fox in superb condition wandered through the campsite quite close to Guillaume but I was far too captivated just watching to grab a photo. Actually, it was clearly visible only for a few seconds, anyway, but it felt longer. The rabbits it scared witless were visible for only a split second as they scattered in panic.

Finally, whilst not exactly being wildlife, even though tourists are requested not try to get friendly with them (and guess how many obey), the New Forest ponies were beginning to start dropping their new foals. One mare and her new born foal had wandered into the campsite and she was calmly grazing right beside our water taps as her foal sat and began to develop droopy eyelids. The new mother seemed completely unfazed and content to have humans around.

Those darn grockels. 🙂

A mixture of sunshine and showers, some of which might be heavy, was forecast. We decided to put the coastal effect to the test and headed for Hengistbury Head, just south of Christchurch, where the sky did indeed look brighter. We parked and coughed up for two hours worth, then set off to investigate the head itself.

Brighter the sky certainly was but there was still a stiff wind blowing in from the south-west, whipping up a choppy sea full of white caps. Sounds like a good force 5, if I remember my Beaufort Scale (which I most probably don’t).

Hengistbury Head was settled thousands of years ago and appears to have been subjected to a good deal of archaeological investigation. The high point now offers good views across Christchurch harbour and to the Mudeford sand bar.

Inexorably drawn to its collection of colourful, if occasionally dilapidated, beach chalets, this is where Francine next fancied heading.

Part way along the lines of chalets, a café catering to the beach community provided our lunch in the form of two Cornish pasties. We fell into conversation with a painter engaged in decorating the door of the café, who mentioned that “they” had forecast a 2-week heat wave starting in a week or so’s time. We both remembered a similar forecast of a 2-month heat wave from about a month ago. Neither of us found this forecast any more believable.

Our new acquaintance’s initial comment had been triggered by a rapidly approaching dark sky. We were at the furthest point we could get from our car and the end of our pasties soon turned into a rather soggy affair as force 5-ish wind-blown rain began peppering us. Francine had no waterproof, though I’d chosen to wear mine more against the cutting wind than anything else. We began walking back against the driving rain and my trousers quickly looked wetter than Francine’s, as all the rain running off my jacket soaked into my trousers. For the second time, I was starkly reminded of the almost pointless nature of a waterproof jacket without any accompanying waterproof over ones legs. This time I became aware of a second miscalculation: though my walking shoes may be waterproofed with a Gortex-like membrane, what use is this if ones socks get as saturated as ones trousers and wick moisture down inside those shoes?

I stand by my firm belief that it is far better not to venture out in such weather conditions.

The downpour passed and the sun returned. Aided by the continuing wind, both began drying out may wringing wet trousers. The drying process continued as we drove back and called in to a Sainsbury’s, where I decided to buy a few additional prawns to boost the protein content of our hungrily anticipated Poodle Alaska.

Our Alaska proved to be most enjoyable, quite the tastiest poodle I’ve ever had. A bottle of dry Spanish rosado washed it down quite well.

Meeting with friend Paul and his wife, Sue, a few days ago had introduced us to the fact that there is a branch of our favourite English food shop, Waitrose, in Lymington. Being only about 4 miles further than Brockenhurst and offering a wider selection, we set off in search of supplies and fuel.

Wandering around the store examining our choices, Francine spotted a range of what a bullshit-filled marketeer might call a meal solution. Fortunately, this range of products didn’t appear to have been subjected to such nonsense. On a higher shelf that made Francine stretch a little to see, were a number of  “scratch®, fresh meal kits”. The one which caught Francine’s attention she read as “Singaporean Crayfish, Prawn and Poodle Alaska”. Visions of a poodle, it’s curly white coat having been replaced by a mound of foaming white meringue, sprang instantly to mind. Well, how could we resist? After all, the very best thing that could happen to any poodle is that it be humanely dispatched and swiftly baked in a blisteringly hot oven.

Upon closer examination, the object of our mirth turned out to be “Singaporean Crayfish and Prawn Noodle Laksa”. Being fans of south-east Asian cuisine generally, the lack of any poodle didn’t diminish our enthusiasm to give it a try. The kit looked quite clever comprising “all, yes all, the ingredients you need” and ready prepared: a pack of vermicelli noodles, a pack of mixed crayfish tails and prawns, a pack of carrot julienne, a pack of bean sprouts, a pack of coconut milk, a pack of laksa paste, a fresh lime leaf and a lime wedge. A further point in its favour was the fact that the recipe is supposedly by none other than the eminent Michele Roux. This is not the kind of product that we’d be likely to purchase at home, preferring to prepare such things truly from scratch ourselves, but it is the kind of product that is useful given Guillaume’s slightly more restricted cooking facilities. After we’d stopped laughing, we popped a Poodle Alaska kit into our shopping trolley with an air of anticipation – for tomorrow, that is.

Other offerings in the scratch® repertoire include “Vietnamese Chicken Ga Kho Gung” and “Chicken Thai Green Curry”.

In the afternoon we made a second visit to Crockford Stream, our first having yielded nothing. This second visit was more productive and we were entertained by a couple of Broad-bodied Chasers (Libellula quadrimaculata) actively hunting, and a couple of teneral Beautiful Demoiselles (Calopteryx virgo). Most interesting, though, was this which I believe is/will be an example of a female Large Red Damselfly (Pyrrhosoma nymphula), form melanotum.

We also stopped for a second time at Hatchet Moor where, as well as a few more Downy Emeralds (Cordulia aenea), none of which seemed inclined to pose for our cameras, our most interesting find was this colourful female Blue-tailed Damselfly (Ischnura elegans), form rufescens.

Now here’s something that doesn’t happen very often in the UK: all three days of a Bank Holiday weekend being sunny. At least the London Breeding Club will have had about the best introduction possible to life in a motorhome. Pity, really, it might encourage them into a repeat performance. 😯

We wrapped up against the still chill air and boarded our bikes bound for Barton-on-sea. Here there is a cliff that attracts paragliders whose aerial manoeuvrings can provide entertainment as one sits enjoying a treat from the local ice cream parlour.  Other than this, though, Barton-on-sea must be dullest seafront ever – it’s certainly the dullest in muy experience. Below the cliff beloved of the paragliders is a beach of sorts but not only is it undeveloped, it appears uncared for and unloved, looking more like waste ground than a south coast seafront. Curious.

I decided to use the sunny afternoon to visit  Ramsdown Plantation near Hurn, technically just outside the New Forest itself. It’s a good place to see the delightful Black Darter (Sympetrum danae) later in the season but I wondered what we might find there at the start of the season. I phoned Paul to see if he fancied it but he was already out ats another site in search of Hairy Hawkers (Brachytron pratense). He also thought Ramsdown, being quite open, needed a calmer day with less wind.

Paul, of course, was quite right. Nothing was moving on teh very open heath area, except the grasses bending in the stiff breeze. We made our way up to the main pond and found access quite difficult, the pond being larger than normal as a result of all the recent wet weather. Fighting our way around the margins, we did disturb a handful of Large Red Damselflies (Pyrrhosoma nymphula) and hawk-eyed Francine also spotted one very teneral Common Blue Damselfly (Enallagma cyathigerum).

We’d just decided to call it a day and begun retracing our steps when a dragonfly passed over Francine’s head and settled near the ground. It was a teneral Four-spotted Chaser (Libellula quadrimaculata).

Our new friend starting moving on its perch and moved such that it had pushed its head through a gap between two crossed sticks, leaving its outstretched wings caught behind those same two sticks. Not a great place from which to take flight in an emergency, as was evidenced by the fact that it let me pick it up carefully to free it. I placed it on a clearer, more sheltered perch from which it eventually flew. Bon chance, mon ami!

With a more noticeable sigh of relief, we returned to our campsite to find Guillaume free of two thirds of the London Breeding Club, with the remaining third apparently making preparations for departure. Phew!

Today had gone quite well. It started better than expected by being sunnier than had originally been forecast. There was just the odd cloud dimming life momentarily. Having been out on a variety of distractions all day, life then collapsed completely when we returned to Guillaume to find him quite literally surrounded by a convoy of three rental motorhomes, all packed to the gunwales with a mixture of Rugrats and Satan’s Little Disciples. It looked like an organized outing of the London Breeding Club. One van alone contained four of the little horrors. The combined junior platoon was running, scooting and yellng around our pitch so frenetically that I honestly couldn’t manage a reliable headcount. Our section of the forest campsite was now more like a school playground than a leisure venue.

Before realizing the situation, I had nattered to two of the adults at the water point as they replenished their van’s water tank. and they seemed personable enough. Apparently this was their first such trip and the vans had been “rented for the weekend”. Once this van had re-joined its fellows, however, and since our pitch was between the three  motorvans’ pitches, the breeding adults added to our discomfort by hanging around outside the front of Guillaume chatting, bottles of beer in one arm and babes in the other. These were not experienced campers, most of whom – there are always exceptions – show some respect for other campers and their personal space. In one fell swoop, and I do mean fell, the peace and serenity of the great outdoors had been obliterated. Our only remaining contact with sanity is the hope that they really did mean the weekend and will leave tomorrow.  If I believed in any kind of god, I’d pray that this would, indeed, be their last night. As it is, hope will have to suffice.

On a lighter note and prior to rational life heading south, we started the day with a slightly less muddy morning walk – our day of sun had dried some patches noticeably – from Guillaume down to Tiptoe where we still found nothing stirring. Our return route produced a highlight, though, when a Roe Deer wandered across the track in front of us. These are the smaller members of the forest’s deer population, the others being Fallow an Sika. We’d seen them wander through the campsite but had yet to be presented with a decent photo opportunity.

After lunch we boarded our bikes for Francine to do a three garden tour of Sway. This was a yearly private garden open day organized by the NGS (National Garden Scheme) to raise money for a collection of laudable charities, many of them associated with cancer relief.

Later in the afternoon we changed transport modes again to drive back to Pony Poo Pond (a.k.a. Burbush Pond) to see who might be around, following our successes yesterday with Paul. The place wasn’t exactly swarming but we did see a handful of Large Red Damselflies (Pyrrhosoma nymphula) together with three fresh Broad-bodied Chasers (Libellula depressa) and a couple of Four-spotted Chasers (Libellula quadrimaculata), the latter bringing our 2-day species count to 10 – quite a surprise for 4th May.

We really have to stop doing this, coming away over Bank Holidays. Our only chance of a mostly acceptable world lies with sticking to weekdays and avoiding such times. It would have been worth an extra tank of diesel to go home then hit the road again after the insanity had passed. Sadly, had we done so, we’d have missed the only really good weather we’ve had, as well as the rugrat-infested crowds.