Goats keep the vegetation under control on the cliff.
Fish and chips
Queue for ice creams
https://www.lucanart.com/contact
Local artist Miroslav Lucan
Portrait by Mathew Byrom of Southbourne Metal Detectorist hero Darren Wiles.
https://www.bournemouthecho.co.uk/news/24340520.bournemouth-metal-detectorist-suprised-beach-art/
Primary school leavers jump in the sea in their school uniforms to celebrate the end of the school year.
Time to leave the beach…
Florida Key stood on the quay and gazed across the river with pride. He had just taken over the ferry that crossed the river. His family had worked the crossing for generations, centuries perhaps, since the days of rowing over a few locals in a fishing boat. The Key family still held the licence, proud of their professional and safe record for the one minute crossing.
Though the crossing was short, skill was still involved, taking the tide into account, heading downstream before swinging round to tie up at the little wooden jetty. Florida could steer close enough for passengers to disembark without mooring, but passengers liked the security of seeing a rope thrown over the wooden post.
Mr and Mrs Key had thought it amusing to name their first born Florida after conceiving him on a memorable holiday in Florida Keys. Now he decided to use this to his advantage in rebranding and upgrading the ferry experience. He erected bright new signage FLORIDA QUAYS on both river banks. After a torrential downpour the nature reserve side of the river acquired a few ponds and swampy areas which gave him an idea. He acquired some model alligators to hide in the water and the undergrowth, they attracted more attention when he ordered some body parts from Amazon. Children gasped in fright when they spotted a hand or foot sticking out of an alligator’s jaws.
Florida’s next idea was heritage ferry crossings. A new display board, on the town side of the river, displayed digitalised blown up images from the tiny black and white photos in the family album of ancestors rowing humble wooden boats. Florida would row people across while his sister captained the motor boat. He had never rowed a boat before, but how hard could it be, people rowed up and down the river all the time, all he had to do was row across it. With his mates’ help they hauled a rowing boat out of the old boat house.
If the crossings were a success, he might do short pleasure trips down the river to the beach beside the narrow channel where sea worthy boats made their way out. The larger ferries that took passengers up and down the river were owned by a rival company.
The first couple of crossings went well on an incoming tide. The passengers enjoyed the occasional splash from the oars, which made the experience more realistic and several said it was a shame the trip was so short, though it was slower and longer than the motorboat.
In the afternoon a strong wind had blown up and the tide was outgoing. His sister suggested they just stick with the motor boat, but children waiting on the town quay were eager to get to the other side to see the alligators and to get splashed in the rowing boat.
As Florida rowed out there was more of a drag on the oars and the wooden jetty looked further away than usual.
‘Are we going on an adventure?’ squealed one excited boy.
‘No, not today, we’re going to swing round and head for the jetty now.’
But somehow Florida could not turn the boat and the further they drifted downstream the more he forgot which way you did the oars to turn round. When they swept round the bend and the beach hove into view, Florida had an idea, or rather a desperate plan. He just needed to run aground on the sand before reaching the sign on the beach that warned against swimming because of the fast currents in the channel.
‘Okay, we’ll have a little adventure and land on the beach.’
The children cheered while a mother felt under the narrow seat for non existent life jackets and an uncle started tapping into his phone with the vague memory that 999 could also summon the coastguard.
The river current became stronger and took Florida by surprise. His efforts to hang onto the right oar caused him to wrench the ageing oarlock off.
The uncle was unused to making 999 calls and the stress of wondering if they might also need police, fire brigade and ambulance caused him to get confused as to their location. The operator wanted more information than ‘in a boat’ – they were on holiday, so it was not surprising he had no idea what the river was called. The operator thus had no idea that there was an RNLI inshore lifeboat station a short distance away. Fortunately they were doing an exercise and could not avoid noticing an old wooden boat being swept along the channel and out to sea.
When Florida’s sister returned from getting a takeaway coffee, she was surprised to see the motorboat still moored and no sign of her brother or the rowing boat. She wondered if it was wasting the time of the emergency services to dial 999.
When the lifeboat landed all the passengers at the life boat station there was great excitement among the children.
‘Can we go round again, that was fun.’
Florida wondered if it would be okay to ask if they could go back out and rescue his rowing boat, but before he could ask, the coxswain beckoned him into a small, but impressive coms room.
‘Now Sir, I am obliged to offer you some seafaring advice, which I shall do while we wait for the police to arrive.’
I always wanted to be famous, an actress probably, but then I had a better idea, I would become a newsreader. Just as famous, in people’s homes every night, regular work, short hours and best of all, I would be able to sit behind a big desk. Nobody would see my legs and hips, not my best feature and I certainly would not have to do any nude scenes. And I would not have to learn any lines, just read from the autocue.
I practised in front of the mirror… and in tonight’s news… serious face, serious tragedy face, reassuring expression, Royalty voice, lighten up with cheerful final item…
‘As many as three thousand people are feared dead in… the King and Queen met a 117 year old veteran today when they visited… the Coastguard and lifeboats are still searching for three people missing after their… A Jack Russell terrier named Lucky had a lucky escape when he fell over five hundred feet off Beachy Head and landed in an RNLI lifeboat searching for three missing people…’
It transpired that there is more to being a newsreader than I thought, but I made it… local news, national lunchtime news, main evening news! Someone to do my hair and makeup, different smart jacket or blouse every evening and I was soon a well known name. Under the desk I could wear my bunny slippers and what my husband called my pyjama trousers, but what I called lounge wear. Then one day the producer called a meeting.
The evening news was going to be revamped, the desk would be no more. We would walk around pausing now and then to look commanding. How would I walk, read the autocue and look intelligent all at the same time… and what on earth would I wear?
Luckily my brother is a drag queen, not a profession I or my parents ever thought would be useful, but he came round to offer advice. Picking out a couple of pairs, my only pairs, of smart trousers and a dress and two skirts, he put his hands on his hips and said ‘Now all you need is a decent pair of high heels.’
‘I don’t wear heels, I don’t possess any high heels.’
‘No problem, you can borrow a pair of mine.’
‘Won’t they be too big?’
‘Just stuff some tissues in the toes, it’s only for half an hour.’
Monday evening launch and I’m at the studio back door waiting for my brother who had promised to bring the shoes on his way to his show. He had assured me he would choose his most conservative pair with the shortest heels. With minutes to spare I rushed to my dressing room and opened the shoe box. Black, good, four inch heels oh dear. I stared at them, I was unused to wearing such shoes, but even I could tell something was not right, what was odd about them? Something was right, both shoes were right! He had so many pairs of shoes, presumably lots of similar pairs and rushing around getting his dresses ready he did not notice his mistake.
I had no choice but to wear them, I was expecting them to be uncomfortable anyway, so what difference would it make. Out in the corridor I steadied myself against the wall. My producer said ‘You look lovely, whoops, politically incorrect, you look very professional. Oh by the way, we have got breaking news, no idea what or where, keep your eyes on the autocue and listen on your earpiece for updates.’
I tottered over to the prearranged starting point, my feet in agony already and my earpiece buzzing with the producer’s mumblings and urgent hissings. I peered at the autocue, but I was not used to this angle.
‘…and we start tonight with breaking news from … how on earth is that pronounced…
‘Start walking across’ hissed my producer.
I couldn’t even think which foot to put forward first and they hadn’t told me I had to walk up steps…
My leg became the breaking news…
Visitors coming to stay, intelligent blogs or comments will probably not be forthcoming. Which door will the visitors come through, which door would you choose to go through?
Where are we going?
Can we find our way in?
The Saddest Tale
I found 33 out of 45 mermaids’ tails, nearly three quarters, then ran out of time, though some were way off my bus or walking routes anyway. Some people apparently snapped them all on the first day! There was plenty for children to do at the farewell event, from games to painting their own tails. The whole event must have taken a lot of planning and a lot of artists. The final part will see all the tails auctioned off.
https://www.juliashouse.org/tail-trail/events/farewell-event
Hop off the bus and walk up to the West Cliff.
Stop to catch your breath and admire the view.
Onwards and upwards
Highcliff Hotel, popular with politicians attending party conferences.
Not another mermaid tail!
Time to go down to the beach.
Take the cliff lift…
…or perhaps not…
Follow in the footsteps of our leaders as they walk from their hotel to the Bournemouth International Centre.
Look for another mermaid tail.
This is your clue where to see the gathering of all the mermaid tails before they are auctioned off.
SKY HIGH LIVING
NO MORTGAGE NO RENT
Find out what it’s all about at our coffee morning
TODAY
The large poster greeted us as we stepped out of the station. I nudged George.
’Hey let’s go to that, it could be the answer for us.’
I fingered my new, cheap, engagement ring.
‘Tams, the last thing we want is to live in a high rise block. I thought you wanted a house with a garden, that’s why we came out here to look.’
This was the latest outer suburb we were visiting in our search for a home.
‘Free coffee and cakes and a lift to our exhibition centre.’
The voice startled us. At our side was a bloke who looked more like a scientist than a smarmy salesman.
‘Don’t look so worried, we’re running a shuttle service from the station today, it looks like rain so why not hop in and start your home hunting at the Sky High centre.’
‘How do you know we’re house hunting?’
‘Hopeful people have been arriving all morning since that article in the Guardian last weekend.’
At that moment the heavens opened and we jumped gratefully into his mini bus, smiling and nodding at several other passengers.
We were surprised to arrive ten minutes later at a huge aircraft hangar.
‘You will see inside that later, but first the introductory talk.’
George groaned ‘I knew there was a catch, bet it’s one of those timeshare things.’
As the rain was torrential and there was nothing except fields around the hangar, we didn’t have much choice. We were parked near some outbuildings and the driver held a golf umbrella over our heads as we all clambered out and through a red door. The room we entered was large and bright and full of people helping themselves at a table laden with a selection of cakes. George had three and would have gone back for more if they had not announced the presentation was starting. Behind a small stage a screen lit up. I wondered if the chap addressing us was a comedian in his spare time, perhaps I had seen him on television. Was this all a big joke?
‘Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to a long sales talk, I’ll cut straight to the exciting part. Airships, solar powered airships, how we should all be travelling, not on planes and cruise ships guzzling resources. Some folk even live on those huge cruise ships, good idea to get away from the world, so could you live on an airship? Yes. Our airships orbit the earth just like the International Space Station, only bigger and lower down. Imagine working from home sky high, looking down on the countries you have conference calls with. Or being part of a fantastic project to study the future of airship life, silently gliding through the clouds.
‘That’s just pie in the sky’ said a voice from the back.
‘Hardly, we were all meant to be on the moon by now, what happened to that idea? Our plan is the realistic one. But the big advantage for you young people and a few mature folk is it’s all free. We do offer a gold package for those who want a life of leisure, but most of you will be working as part of the team, according to your talents and experience. Growing vegetables in the sky garden, technical maintenance of the ship, part of the medical team… this is going to be a mini world.’
‘How many airships have you got in orbit’ asked George ‘and how come we have never heard of them?’
‘Prototype One, which is manoeuvring unnoticed above peaceful parts of the earth. The news media are only interested in toy rockets being blasted up and falling down or exploding, not in positive stories. That’s why we will be running our own radio and television stations.’
I nudged George, I worked for a little local radio station as the general dogsbody.
‘How big is this airship, how can if fit a whole space commune on board?’ asked the voice from the back.
‘You will soon see and bear in mind it can be expanded once up in the sky. Now it’s time for the tour of Sky Galleon One’s interior.’
We were led to a door which opened into a sloping tunnel as if we were boarding an aeroplane. There were gasps of excitement as we stepped through the round doorway into a large light atrium, the centre of the four storey vessel. We were each given a small electronic device with a screen to show our location on a 3 D map and more importantly, one button to press which would guide us back to the atrium from anywhere. Thus we were free to explore until summoned by a signature tune.
‘There will be crew members dispersed on every deck to answer your questions.’
George, with his technical and scientific expertise, was busy tapping surfaces, opening cabinets and marvelling at the lightweight constructions of cabins and furniture. I was entranced by the lush sky garden and the lovely personal apartments, so spacious compared to our cramped flat. Then we walked up a sloping passage and arrived at another floor where we were surprised to find a theatre and a dance hall. George saw a sign for the observation deck and rushed me down a spiral walkway to arrive at a glass floor. Presumably there was ground underneath, but the glass rested on an aerial picture of paradise islands in an azure sea.
A tune started playing on our devices.
‘Oh this is on Mum’s playlist I exclaimed – Up, Up and Away…’
George raised his eyebrows ‘A bit cheesy, but appropriate I guess. Do you want to be up, up and away?’
‘YES.’
Back at the atrium there was a buzz of chatter, then we were called to attention.
‘We won’t go up and away until the galleon is attached below the dirigible. Now for the only time you will see what it looks like close up suspended in the hangar. Follow me.’
The hangar was even bigger than I had imagined from the outside, but the dirigible took up most of the vast space. It floated silently, gracefully, shimmering silver, how impressive it would be in the sky.
Two weeks later we were staring up at it from the airfield. Firmly tethered with our stately galleon below barely resting on the ground. We walked across the grass and up the gangway with the others, who like us had signed up on that very first day. Our ten day induction course was over, now we must learn the reality. Some opted to go to the top deck and look out of the picture windows, while George and I sat by the glass floor of the observation deck looking at grass, then the airfield and gradually a toy town.
At dinner that evening in the communal hall we chatted and found out more about each other, fifty people to get to know, all with interesting backgrounds, we would not get bored.
And we didn’t, as the weeks passed there was always more to learn, new parts of the galleon to explore and the beautiful earth to see fairly close up. Then there was our cosy apartment to retreat to. It wasn’t long before we and another two couples became part of Plan B. We were expecting a baby and put under the close care of the medical suite.
I don’t know why we had not thought about it before, but one day I said to George ‘We better find out about ground leave, we’ll have to take the baby to see his grandparents, they won’t be content with just our Facetime calls.’
When we three couples were together we mentioned the subject and the chap who was in training with the flight engineer looked worried and awkward.
‘Did you read your contract properly when you signed up, it’s not that simple.’
‘Surely when we get back above England we can just land back at the base’ I suggested.
‘You can put a balloon in the air, but not necessarily catch it.’
‘They were landing airships a hundred years ago, what’s so difficult.’
‘The sheer scale of this ship. Keep this to yourselves, but I’m pretty certain they are not ready on the ground for a landing and certainly not on board. But there is no need to worry, the ship is totally sustainable, we won’t run out of solar power and food production is going perfectly.’
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKkNlwpajNk&t=26s
THE FIFTH DIMENSION – UP UP AND AWAY…
Surprise, surprise, another mermaid tail.
The eastern end of the promenade
Danger lurks everywhere
https://yerosacom.wordpress.com/2025/06/02/children-of-god-stop-the-war-in-gaza
Most of us probably refrain from attempting to write about the awful events going on in the world, especially if politics was not the reason for creating our blogs and websites. Yelling Rosa has posted a song and also a video message from one of our well known British ‘characters’, though she is now an Australian citizen. But she is also Jewish so her words are especially worth listening to.
Not another nail bar, beauty salon or whatever it was. Well I for one would not be setting foot in La Venue. I would be much too embarrassed for them to see my gardening hands. There was that advert when I was a teenager ‘Whatever you do, your hands show too’ I often think of that when I’m looking at my nails, it was an ad for nail polish. My seaside hair was not seen in glossy advertisements either. I tried to peer into the window without being noticed, to see what they were actually doing and wondered if any of the girls had been trafficked into the country as slave labour. They all looked very glamorous and confident, hardly downtrodden. The interior looked very up market, but there was no sign of prices. Perhaps if you needed to ask, you could not afford it.
When I went to meet Becky for coffee I picked up one of the local papers left out for customer enjoyment. Low and behold, on the front page was a glamourous lady posing by the door of La Venue. Below was a short paragraph revealing her as the manageress with an introduction to her business.
…and has since decided to specialise in more ‘high end’ treatments. She said: “The landscape of aesthetic treatments is currently undergoing a revolutionary transformation where cutting edge technology meets personalised care to create unprecedented opportunities for enhancement and rejuvenation. The field is evolving and now offers more precise, natural and accessible solutions than ever before and we wanted to bring this to …”
I could not be bothered to read more, what on earth was she talking about? I passed the paper to Becky.
‘Nowhere does it say how much, if I win the lottery I’ll treat you.’
I thought no more about it as I went home to see if Amazon had delivered the author copies of my new book Grand Designs.
YES, I stroked the cover and silken pages lovingly, never had a book felt and looked so good.
Grand Designs by Hepsibah Hampton
I turned to the back cover.
It is 1689 and Queen Mary 11 and her husband William of Orange are invited to jointly reign on the English throne. Like any young couple they want to make lots of changes to their new home, Hampton Court and invite Sir Christopher Wren to do some grand designs. The story of their sadly short reign is seen through the eyes of the head gardener and a kitchen maid.
Gardeners, food enthusiasts and romantics will thrill to this tale of two very different love stories. William and Mary’s will end with her tragic death from smallpox in 1694, aged only 32. But life in the privy garden goes on…
Hepsi could not wait to tell Rebecca, who was also her agent. Rebecca was sure Hepsibah would fill the gap left by Hillary Mantel. Hepsi tended to think of herself more as Hillary Mantel lite. She had not done quite as much research into her historic novel, relying on student memories of being a room attendant at the palace, dressed in historic costume and chatting to visitors. She had also visited several times to read the room descriptions and take photos of the huge kitchen. As lots of readers were interested in gardening and food she figured they would warm to the head gardener and the kitchen maid. As she went to pick up her phone, Rebecca called her.
‘Do you want the good news or the brilliant news first?’
I told her the books had arrived and they were fine, what better news could I expect.
‘I won a competition for a free visit to La Venue.’
‘Rather you than me.’
‘But it will be you because the brilliant news is I have booked you a place at the Hay Festival and we need to smarten you up a bit.’
‘You must be joking, I’m not famous or posh enough.’
‘Someone taken ill, I managed to get you in tomorrow. Visit La Venue this afternoon, then we drive down early in the morning.’
I could not believe any of this. Rebecca had never been an agent before and I was her only author. I tried to call her bluff.
‘Okay, I’ll go, but as myself, a sort of intellectual image.’
‘More like just come in from the garden look.’
‘Nobody will see me in the unlikely event my bit is on Radio 4.’
‘The audience will.’
Relaxing in the reclining chair for dermaplaning I felt strangely calm, perhaps that was the inner cleansing health drink they had given me. I began to rehearse what I might say when I was interviewed, or was I expected to give a talk?
The afternoon passed quickly as I was dunked into warm salt baths, had lovely tingling things applied to my lips and cheeks and then lay on my stomach for some enhancements, whatever that meant.
I was trying to look in a mirror, but the eye brightener had left everything a bit fuzzy and I was advised to wear an eye mask for the next few days.
I thought Rebecca sounded a bit worried, but as she drove me to her house she sounded brighter and said an eye mask would add to my mystery and promised to sit on the stage with me. I noticed her sofa was much more comfortable to sit on than I remembered and she said that was the enhancements.
It was a great success, I think. At home I settled to listen to our part on BBC Sounds. I couldn’t recall what I had talked about, but there was a definite buzz coming from the audience, before I even said a word. Those two chaps who are always on intelligent programmes on Radio 4 were introducing my interview .
‘…certainly not what we or the audience were expecting, less polite commentators might suggest she looked more like a Celebrity; a good deal of body work done and her face no stranger to Botox?’
‘But her revelations about late seventeenth century life at Hampton Court certainly entertained the audience, even if they had no idea what that had to do with her new novel set in the Great Depression.’
By this time I was beginning to come out of the haze that had enveloped me since my visit to La Venue.
‘Rebecca, I don’t understand what they are saying.’
‘Ah… well, at least you got some publicity, but it turns out they thought they had booked the other author called Hepsibah Hampton, some best selling intellectual.’
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 