23rd July from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Despite the lumpy grey clouds coming and going there has still been no rain. The wind gusts and dies away. The sea is as lumpy as the sky. By late morning a little weever fish has snuggled down into the sand at the tide’s edge. Until a galumphing great foot splashes down on it. In surprised defence reaction it shoots the spines upright on its back. One of them penetrates the foot of the careless bather and injects a healthy does of poison into the soft tissue. For a moment or two the galumpher thinks he has trodden on the sharp edge of a shell and wincing, carries on. But in a couple of minutes the poison does its work and the bather realises what has happened. The pain from a weever fish sting is intense and unrelenting. It is unlike any other painthat you might have felt. It is far worse than a wasp sting. The bather now sprints up the sand . He knows that he has a few seconds left before the pain becomes excrutiatingly crippling. As luck would have it, there is a beach hut. “Boiling water. Please” He blurts The beach hut owner knows instantly what the request means, puts the kettle on and finds a bowl. The only remedy for the pain of a weever fish sting is to immerse the affected area in hot water. The hotter the better. And leave it there, topping the water up as often as the temperature declines. Within half an hour, the poison begins to break down and the victim can hobble home. What becomes of the other victim, the poor weever fish, we can only conjecture. Later on the clifftop, a grayling butterfly, soft grey brown in colour and with a myriad of eyespots lingers long enough to make up for the drama of the morning. Graylings mostly live by the sea so balance is restored. Gulls circle and glide on the strengthening wind. Pigeons coo. There is still no rain. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #july #summer #weeverfish #grayling butterfly.

And from 2021

The air is thick and heavy. The sun has a dull steely aspect. The afternoon heat is tempered by a sometimes sharp breeze. A thick grey mist obscures the horizon while the curling surf curls makes a continuous rushing sound. In the distance a dull bass buzz of jet-skis.

July 22nd from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The white smoke wreathes and creeps through the branches of the pines like a winter fog. But the scent is acrid and resinous. And the air is hot and humid. Through the miasma I can see a firefighter spraying the ground and bushes. Red coals still glow amidst the blackened branches. The roar of the fire pump parked in Durley Chine with yellow hoses running up through the trees fills the air. Eventually the fire is quelled. It has been a close thing; the ground at this end of the Green is deep in dry leaf litter and a soft carpet of pine needles and the breeze has been strong. Well done to the Dorset and Wiltshire Fire and Rescue Service for being so quick. The fire fighters decide it has been caused by a carelessly discarded cigarette end. The day has been grey and lumpy but now the sun begins to appear and the heat returns. Despite promises of rain there has been nothing. Leaves on the hazel are now withering and turning brown. The honeysuckle is dying back and the apples are falling from the tree unripe. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #summer #july #wildfire

And from 2021

A big orange moon, a couple of days off full yet, hangs in the misty evening sky. The air is fresher and cooler although still warm. There is a subdued hum of voices from couples on benches and people speaking in a myriad of languages on their phones. The sea provides a soothing backdrop. Bike lights glitter and sparkle as they weave along the prom. After the terrible events of today the community of the West Cliff Green seem quieter and more thoughtful. And this liminal space becomes something different from the edge of something to being a nexus, an Omphalos. The navel of the world.

July 21st from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The two old chaps have brought their collapsible chairs out and placed them as they do every day. They cram their sunhats well on. Their dogs lie in the shade of the sycamore. Today the sun is generally hiding behind the lumpy grey clouds but when it does come out it is warm enough for them. There is a haze over the bay and the breeze springs up and dies away for no particular reason. A helicopter thrums back and forth. The beach is not crowded but there are plenty of children enjoying the little waves. The paths are covered in swathes of the long, pale yellow lambs tails that are the catkins of the sweet chestnuts. This year, because of the drought, they are joined by the orange leaves of the parent trees. Butterflies and bees dart about looking for the last remaining blossoms. The blackberries that were so well on a week or two ago are now beginning to shrivel on the brambles. A trail of white feathers show where a pigeon has been surprised by our resident sparrow hawk. The other pigeons coo as if nothing changes. The two old chaps sit unmoving. The day seems frozen in time. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #summer #july

From 21st July 2021

The night is hot and heavy. The asphalt paths give up a tarry smell which mixes with the resin of the pines and the mown grass. Voices carry up on the darkness. It is not time for the weather to break yet.

July 20th from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

There is always a flavour of the Mediterranean on the West Cliff Green. The dark Corsican pines, their resiny scent strong in the air, framing a view of the blue water always reminds me of Greece. But, currently there is that other view, the parched white grass and the cracked earth beneath the old, twisted holm oak trees, their burnt, pale leaves that rustle as people pass to and fro in their shade. All that is missing is the continuous sound of cicadas, Today the sky is grey and there is a blustering breeze but the air is still humid and it is warm enough in the sheltered spots. There are few flowers apart from the tall tough ragworts, evening primroses, mallows and cats ears. The birds are quiet, too. The gulls circle aimlessly. Pigeons coo. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #summer #july

From 20th July 2021

As the shadows lengthen. a slight breeze makes the shady glades pleasant to walk in althogh in the last of the full sunlight it is still hot. The bindweed trumpets close up as soon as they are in shade. Clumps of the magically named Enchanters Nightshade have thrown up their strange, spindly flower spikes. Further along a figwort blooms. Just the evening to meet an old friend and have a few minutes conversation.

19th July from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The heat has continued all night and the morning has brought the same, dead blue sky and intense sun. There is enough breeze on the clifftop to make the temperature just about bearable. The birds are strangely quiet apart from the gulls which squabble over last night's take-away boxes. Every patch of shade is taken up by the coffee drinkers and early picnic lunchers. But during the afternoon a grey film of cloud slides across the sky, temperatures drop and the little breeze fills chilly. The cloud thickens and takes on that yellow colour that presages a storm. But it does not manifest apart from a few distant rumbles of thunder and ten minutes of large thundery drops of rain. People on the beach are undeterred and by late afternoon the cloud is thinning, the sun reappears and heat is building again. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #July #summer

From the 19th July 2009

Up to now, the year has been ambling by letting us enjoy the emrging flowers and wild life. But it has now quickened its pace and is charging recklessly past Meadowsweet has suddenly grown up from all the dtches and damp place and now lines all the tr

Later

And then suddenly everything is hemp agrimony with it's pinkish, punkish flower heads, weld and Agrimony (the ordinary sort). Can't keep up now.

July 18th from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

In the Sahel, a drought is defined as a period of two years without rain. In the UK the Met Office is more liberal in its notions and a drought in the UK is defined as a period of fifteen days with less than 2mm rain. Here on the WestCliff it has now been three weeks since there was any prcipitation so it is officially a drought, And that is easy to see. The soil here is thin and sandy and we are on top of a cliff so there is very liittle moisture. The grass is entirely parched and the little green prostrate plants have retreated to tiny green tufts among the pale straw, Larger plants are flagging and the leaves and stems have lost all rigidity and lie swooning like an Edwardian Lady without a parasol. The large dry orange leaves of the Sweet Chestnut are deep on the paths. The sky is as blue as the eyes of a china doll and there is no relief from the sun. All picnickers have retreated to what shade there is, although the beach is still packed and the verges littered with illegally parked cars. As the vegetation wilts, though, we are treated to the sight of butterflies principally skippers. These little brownish butterflies get their name because they are continually on the move, flitting from plant to plant so that they become impossible to photograph. Chief among these are our own Lulworth Skipper which is mainly found in Dorset and has pretty orangey underwings.. Worth watching out for. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #July #summer #drought #butterflies #lulworthskipper

From July 18th 2017

Thunder storms off Ushant working their way up Channel off the Brest peninsular. Stand by.The lightning goes zzip***** The Thundergoes bip, the rain goes drip, the people go trip.

From July 18th 2016

What a burden it is to carry hate all the time. What a wearying millstone to have upon your shoulders. Because those who hate seem to hate everything and with an intensity that would be unbearable for the rest of us. Your only moment of approval is of something that is contrary to your hate objects. The hater hates in depth and with passion. The bile must churn the guts and inflict real pain. Your muscles knotted with anger must never release. Your veins throb and pop. At night you must lie down in anticipation of a near sleepless night permeated with a bleak carnival of nightmarish images of all those who have offended. At first we might find your loud pronouncements amusing in a sort of eyebrow-raising way, we might think you are being bitterly ironical. But no, it is hate, thorough and all-encompassing. I might be irritated or annoyed at times. I may see Armageddon on the horizon but I cannot stir the depth of emotion that you have access to. All I can do is to try to understand when things are not to my liking. Perhaps those things that distress you so deeply may not originate outside but be part of your own inner turmoil.

July 17th from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

After the heat of the day has declined and the gentle zephyrs that kept things cool have died away, the evening is still and sweetly tempered. Clouds of all sorts of grotesque colours and shapes writhe along the horizon and creep up overhead like powerful necromancer's sigils in purple, white and grey smoke. The murmur of picnickers is subdued as are the tiny waves on the beach. And, although all the green things are straw and brown coloured, the brambles are reaching out across the path and the gorse is putting on fresh prickly branches. There are still plenty of visitors on the beach as the shadows begin to stretch across the sand. Pigeons coo and gulls wheel on the still evening air. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #july #summer

From 17th July 2021

The heat beats up from the tarmac on the path. Under a pure blue sky the sea is fringed with the bobbing shapes of swimmers and paddlers. Blacberries are turning from greento pink but there are still masses of white flowers following on. Teasels have acquired a purple halo around the their spiky heads and mullein are stretching skyward and beginning to show their yellow flowers

From 17th July 2014

his year's baby seagull just taken its first header of the roof crashing through the branches of a tree sending leaves and foliage flying in the way that he didn't. Now standing in the car park bemused and befuddled with that gormless look of one whose tiny rooftop world has been turned upside down and can't quite decide what to do next.

July 16th from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Possibly the hottest day of the year so far, and for once, we are grateful for the on shore breeze which keeps everything comfortable. The silver sea is as smooth as silk and race back and forth like excited puppies describing big white circles as they dart around each other. The beach is crowded and there is that deep underlying chatter that pervades everything. As the sun begins to disappear, long fine streamers of white cloud radiate out from where it is setting. But far out on the bay, the bright rays are still picking out little white fishing boats where they ride out the evening patiently. #bournemouth #westcliffbeach #july #Summer.

From 16th July 2016

Windows wide open. Blinds half lowered against the glare. Test Match Special on low from the other room. Could this be what they used to call "summer"?

July 15th from the West Cliff Green

Normally a stiffish breeze would be annoying but today it moderates the blistering heat and lifts the scent of pine needles and bracken into the air. The tree branches sway making the dapples on the path dance and bother about. The sea is only slightly wrinkled but the breeze lifts the occasional white cap off the deep blue green water which sparkles as if its mother has been up all night sewing sequins on it..

Butterflies tumble; a bumble bee clings to a teasel like an acrobat as the stalk pirouettes beneath it. Gulls swoop and glide on the air. A greenfinch practises its voice from a gorse bush. Crows call to one another. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #July #summer

From 15th July 2016

Looking at the piles of sand that the ants have thrown up on the car park made me consider that, without intervention, the whole hard surface would be gone in ten or so years. Then I remembered Charles Darwin's research into worms and how he showed how quickly Roman ruins were covered with layers of soil. I guess we should remember how temporary is our stay and how quickly our works would be buried. On the other hand, for all the violence and hate, there are good things about being human and about being alive which we should strive to preserve and hand on to a future world.

From 15th July 2015

The clifftop is heavy with the intense sweet scent of honeysuckle. The vines tangle in and out the gorse and darkening bracken. The evening is almost dead still. The only sounds is the almost imperceptible chatter of Swifts flying so high they are almost invisible against the pink edged grey evening clouds. Below a couple walk hand in hand along the gentle surf edge. The wavelets provide a distant wash.