To Ryde

A couple of weeks ago now we made our annual pilgrimage to Ryde.

A hot day. Traffic not a problem at Malden Rushett or at the M25/A3 interchange.

Seagull activity in the middle of Portsmouth harbour, with a great flock of them circling overhead. The sort of thing I associate with the cooling water outlet offshore from the Dungeness B power station. Great commotion last time we were there, some years before it was shut down that is.

That apart, one aircraft carrier (no aircraft visible) and one frigate. Not even the odd armoured punt. And most of the base that I remember from my childhood is now housing, shops, restaurants and pleasure craft. Good job that there is no present need to attempt to force the Dardanelles - particularly since we we failed last time in 1915, when we were still a first rank naval power and when we were helped by the French. That said, according to Wikipedia, there were some at the time who said we might have succeeded had we held our nerve - and accepted the considerable, further losses in sailors and ships that would have followed.

Back on the Solent, a sprinkling of small sailing yachts, but nothing very grand. Although there was one of those tall, thin, near rectangular black Bermuda mainsails which seem to be all the thing at the moment.

We decided that a picnic in one of the parks to the east of Ryde was the way forward, except that I managed to get slightly lost getting there. At least BH thought so. A bonus was capturing the Wellingtonia noticed at reference 1. We wound up picniking in Puckpool Park rather than the Appley Park that BH was expecting, just across from what I took to be a pollard oak, but nothing like as old as the medieval specimens in and around Epsom Common. Maybe planted towards the end of the life of the battery described at reference 2 - which dates from one of our periodic scares about French invasions. Maybe the last such.

From there to the big Tesco's on the way to Brading. Where we had a cheerful checkout lady, perhaps in her fifies, who had developed a pronounced swing to her shoulders as she moved our groceries from one end of her desk to the other. She explained that three hours of this was quite enough. While the five hours of filling big trolleys for home delivery orders that followed was more than enough. I also noticed large numbers of what I took to be security cameras hanging from the ceilings. Rather like the ones you get in London tube trains.

Onto Brading, which did not seem to have changed much, with the Dark Horse, which we had liked when we first started coming to Brading, maybe ten years ago now, was still firmly shut up. On the other hand, the Bugle, which had not been doing that well, seem to be very lively, with a good mixture of holiday makers like ourselves and locals. There was even a stag party, warming up for the bright lights of Ryde - a town which I imagine had rather more to offer in the silent hours in the days when it would have been full of sailors from Portsmouth out on the beano. Maybe even allied sailors - we did once, after all, see a clutch of Japanese frigates or destroyers anchored just outside the harbour entrance.

I settled for pork belly, boulangère potatoes and slightly over cooked vegetables. Furthermore, the potatoes did not look quite the same as some of those turned up by Bing, an example of which is snapped above. Or knocked out by Soif on Battersea Rise. But I carp: it was a substantial and satisfying meal. As were the others that we saw being delivered round about.

Rounded out with some garlic bread all round. BH took something a little lighter, also perfectly satisfactory.

The waitresses were cheerful and busy, but probably a little new at their work, and it took three or four of them a little while to get the bottle of wine open. But that was fine too. A bottle of red, for an occasional treat: according to reference 3, a wine both ample and delicate. Whatever the case, we liked it. Reasonably priced too.

We had a back view of a young singer to go with my brandy. She seemed to be doing well enough.

All in all, a good meal and a good outing. We went back a week or so later.

Back to our cottage, where BH took the Samsung challenge. That is to say she had to get to grips with a television and no less than three controllers, all of which were new to her. She passed, if not exactly with flying colours on this first occasion.

While I failed the plant challenge, with the pot plant above only being identified as the cigar plant, quite by chance, some days later. From warm and tropical parts of the Americas. For which see reference 4. But not so foreign that they don't get a mention in Bentham & Hooker (last noticed at reference 5 and first noticed at reference 6), albeit a short mention at the very end of the short section on the Lythrum family.

PS: 'picniking' does not look right to me. But Bing assures me that it is. And Blogger faults the alternative 'picnicing'. Perhaps the former is some US usage.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/07/wellingtonie-103.html.

Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puckpool_Battery.

Reference 3: https://www.chateaudaviaud.fr/fr.html.

Reference 4: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuphea.

Reference 5: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/07/goatleafed.html.

Reference 6: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2021/08/cheese-time-again.html.