Reminiscing

Thinking of Gong at Totnes reminded me of the time we saw Gong at Beautiful Days back in 2009 (we saw Gong twice that year [the other time was in Exeter in November] each time with a slightly different line up), or more specifically, iI was reminded of an event in the crowd. The crowd grew in size and anticipation as we waited for Gong to take to the stage, amongst the crowd there were a group of what I'd describe as classic 'brew crew' characters, they were dressed as you'd expect, almost as if in uniform, they had a sack truck of Special Brew, they were being loud, obnoxious and intimidating, throwing their empties carelessly over their shoulders in the crowd and such like. The were putting on quite a show. My kids were fascinated, most of the kids watching were fascinated, whilst many of their parents, many of which looked like they'd never come across people like this before were naturally horrified and intimidated. Beautiful Days is a weird festival, it's family friendly and mainstream, whilst simultaneously having alternative almost a free festy-ish feel. As I say the 'brew crews' antics were all a show, when challenged for their behaviour the group apologized politely and continued their drinking less boisterously. All was good. Of course, they still were the focus of attention as they deteriorated in front of us. Increasingly the worse for wear, one of their number eventually succumbed to Special Brew and gravity, and crumpled to ground. His compadres looked on with genuine concern. At which point one of them, maybe the groups physician, approached the sprawled fellow, checked him out and mumbled sympathetic words, where upon, with a little encouragement, the collapsed fellow managed to get on to all fours.  The concerned fellow now reached into his pocket and produced a paper wrap, which he carefully unfolded. I knew what was coming next and looking around me at the horrified faces of other parents, so did others. Fuck I thought, how will explain this to the kids. With the wrap carefully unfolded, the guy proceeded to gently dab white power into the collapsed fellows mouth, once, twice, oh go on, one more, and then, excelsior! Slowly, like the opening scenes of 2001 the formally collapsed fellow resumed a bipedal posture, to approval of his group and was passed another can. As I say, all of this was done in front of a mixed crowd of all ages, many adults looking on in dismay.  I'd seem my kids, like many others, watching fascinated. I told them the truth, what else can you do. You know, what struck me was how caring, gentle and loving the whole dysfunctional scene was. All mobile again the group moved off, disappearing through the crowd. I'm certain I saw one of the fellows, the one with the wrap, in a Glastonbury pub several years later, and he was a very nice, if not messy, chap. Anyway, of course Gong were fantastic. I'd seen Gong several times over the years in one form or another though never including Steve Hillage and Miquitte Giraudy. I was also excited for my children to see such a legendary band, a band they'd heard many times at home. Funny how your mind wanders through the tunnels of time.

On the seventh day of Christmas

On the seventh day of Christmas, music gave to me a surprise, which really shouldn't have been a surprise. Back in March we ventured west to Totnes to see Gong, I'd last seen some years back on the 2023 tour when Daevid and Gilli were still with us. I'd not seen the band since and I have to admit to being a touch concerned that something may have been missing. I know it was essentially the same line up of consummate artists, minus Daevid and Gilli, as Gongs 2014's 'I see you' (which was both fabulous and moving in equal measure), but still, I don't know. From the performances get go I felt foolish, no, I felt guilty that I'd had any doubts or concerns. This was Gong! No doubt about it. I should have known better, Gong has always been fluid, emerging in different forms and guises, though always in essence Gong, that was Daevid's magic, his creation, his gift. Kavus steps up and takes the lead with a charisma and attitude befitting a Gong front man, I was pleasantly surprised with the air of continuity and continuation the band exuded. Dave Sturt on bass is fantastic, as is Fabio on guitar and Cheb on drums, and Ian East as well as being a superb sax player was also very funny to watch. All round it was a wonderful evening of glorious Gong, I was a bit of a twat for fearing it would be anything else.

On the sixth day of Christmas

https://theluckofedenhall.bandcamp.com/

On the sixth day of Christmas music gave me by far the finest release of the year, the Luck of Eden Hall's 'Make Way for the Mighty Machines'.  Epic, immense, majestically sweeping, all could be used to describe this track, and none would really do it justice, though they'll do for a start. I'd heard a review copy early in the year and couldn't wait for its release which wasn't until October. 'Make Way for the Mighty Machines' is a 23 minute long opus, man, epic is just what it is, so many different elements at play, so many diverse musical styles blended beautiful to create a fabulous whole, it's horizons huge. From it's opening lyric 'we're the resistance, we wont give in, to corporation blight' you know there something more to this track than just music, it's a heart felt message too. It's a rallying cry in the face of the developing storm born of capitalisms failings that's engulfing the globe. I see the track as an anthem for positivity as disobedience to the prevailing negative mainstream narratives as projected through a corrupt corporate media, it urges us to 'discard all negative thoughts' pumped at through our TV screens, it reminds us that those TV's are not our friends. It doesn't just illustrate the problems, it suggests solutions, 'let's share a message of love', is a salient message there in, it's an important message that the Luck of Eden Hall are delivering here, and it reminds us that 'numbers give us the power' to effect change, together.  Our culture needs more musicians who'll give positive focus and a voice to our feeling of disenfranchisement. Well, that's how I see it anyway. As for the music itself, well, there are elements of psych rock and punk sensibilities flowing through strong undercurrents of prog grandeur, it's a vast canvas and every inch of that canvas bathed in a myriad of musical colour and flavour.  It's immense, in sound and in scope, every instrument is played to perfection.  It's a legit musical masterpiece, man! And on this occasion the Luck of Eden Hall is just one man, which makes it even more outstanding, an incredibly talented man, Gregory Curvey. Gregory wrote it, produced it, mixed it, he plays guitar, bass, drums, synth and delivers vocals, all to the highest of standards; I don't doubt he made the tea as well. There's no end to this guys talents. No, really! He's also a fantastic artist and craftsman, on top of which, I had the pleasure of meeting back in the year, and he's a bloody nice chap, to boot; don't you just hate people like that.  As I say, by far the finest release of the year, grab yourself a copy, you wont regret it. This release is a split on the B side of which are 3 tracks by Red Sun, which are also rather good.

On the fifth day of Christmas

On the fifth day of Christmas music gave to me The New Avalon Ballroom Weekender. And wow, what a weekend that was! Sublime bands in salubrious surroundings enjoyed in good company, it doesn't get much better than that. The last few years have throw up obstacles which have meant I've not made it to the festivals or gigs I'd often planned to, I feared it was going to go the same way for The New Avalon Ballroom Weekender, though the Gods and Goddesses smiled upon me and with a little help from my friends (as the Beatles said), at the last minute I was travelling to the Isle of Avalon and on to that hostelry of fine repute, The King Arthur.  The weekender was more fun than I could have imagined. We, like many, camped on the edge of town at the Isle of Avalon Touring Caravan Park, very nice, good atmosphere and within easy walking distance of the town. I have to admit to getting a bit too wasted on the first night, I blame....well, I don't blame anybody, it was a fine evening, even if I did require supporting on the walk back. I took a more measured approach on subsequent days. We didn't get to see all the fantastic bands, although as you'd expect the ones we did gave stella performances. We saw current favourites like The Cary Grace Band, Magic Bus and Music of the Andys, new bands (to me anyway) such as Zub Zub and Tim Hawthorn and the Archetypes and long time favourites and legends in the form of the Invisible Opera Company, Kangaroo Moon and Here and Now. It was magical. And, Here and Now's Andy Roger giving me shout out before 'So glad your here' was a lovely gesture, brought a tear to my eye and was the cherry on one hell of a weekend cake. I was so glad I was there too, to have seen such fabulous bands and enjoyed the company of so many lovely people was a real tonic. I salute all involved.

On the forth day of Christmas

On the forth day of Christmas music gave to me a beautiful evening at the Square and Compass with Kangaroo Moon. For me, it was without a doubt the gig must brimming with joy this year, the Square and Compass was filled with love and good energy.  And it rocked. If you don't know the Square and Compass in Worth Matravers it's not the largest pub in the world, though certainly one of the most convivial, the room in which bands perform is about the size of an average front room, and on the night I recall here, it was crammed with dancing folk of all ages, all with beaming smiles. The attached video isn't of said gig, but does give a flavour of their sound, or should I say 'one' of their sounds, as Kangaroo Moon are a fluid band which manifests in different form, with different line ups, playing different sounds; what's consistent is that they're always well worth seeing.

Worbarrow Bay

Taking the opportunity of the Lulworth ranges being open over the Christmas period, we set off early for Purbeck, and on arrival we found the quarry above Kimmeridge already filling with cars. Our mission today was Worbarrow Bay again, though approached from a different direction affording us different views. The ridge above Kimmeridge is always a lovely walk, allowing aspects over Kimmeridge bowl, across the Tyneham and Corfe Valleys and in both directions along the coast, with a fantastic pay off upon reaching Tyneham Cap and Townley Shenton's seat.  From there we made our way along the top of the towering Gad Cliffs, and down the slippery hillside to Worbarrow Bay. It had been a while since we'd walked around the pebbly shore of the bay, it's a walk to to nowhere, as the beach abruptly ends at Cow Corner and the chalk cliffs which lead round to Arish Mell. Although it's December, the warm sun and inviting chalk hued seas looked inviting, though I'm certain that deception would be quickly seen through if we'd taken the plunge. The last time we walked this way the beach was clear, a long sweeping curve of graded pebbles, today though though the beach is truncated by a massive landslide from Flowers Barrow Hill. Large boulders now need negotiating if you're to get to the bays far end. We decided to return over the landslide, climbing to emerge about half way up the hill. There may have been huge boulders on the foreshore, though behind them the chalk is cherty and gritty, and appears as if shattered into irregular, though rough similar sized, pieces. The scar of the slide is massive and imposing, the land surface scoured of vegetation, it's alien in aspect and eerie to walk, possibly added to by the air of danger. When we emerged out onto the hillside I admit to being relieved, though was happy to seen immensity of scar first hand.  It's easy to think of this rocky coast as a static thing, although in recent years in particularly that view has been challenged in light of the numerous and often immense slides and the changes they bring.  We walked back up through the Tyneham Valley to the quarry, a good walk on a lovely day.    

Colourful layers of time

A fallen boulder afforded us a colourful view of the layers of time.

On the third day of Christmas.....

On the third day of Christmas music gave to me a broken circle. A broken circle I hear you say, that doesn't sound good. Well, you'd be mistaken. My first album purchase of the year was The Greek Theater's fantastic album 'Broken Circle', and what a lovely album. Another much played waxing. 

On the second day of Christmas.....

On the second day of Christmas, music gave to me...a bus full of magic. The last band I saw live this year, and a band I've been lucky enough to catch live on several occasions are the fabulous Magic Bus. A Magic Bus gig, is just that....magic! A band of affable musicians of the highest calibre, creating music of a space jazz prog psych flavour with Canterbury running though ot like Bournemouth through a stick of rock. A Magic Bus gig is guaranteed a most splendid experience. In the summer the band released their third album 'Phillip the Egg' which instantly became a turntable regular (all three of their albums are wonderful listening). Buy their music and go see them perform, you're life will be better for it.......fact!

Wet wood

Man, was it good to get out in the woods today. I've spent the last couple of days in the kitchen, cooking and washing up from 8 in the morning to 8 at night. The woods were a breath of fresh air. The recent rains have filled any hollows and gullies with waters of indeterminable depth, so once again navigating the stands have taken on its usual seasonal peril.  It's easy enough to see the standing water, though less so the inundated and well soaked ground, which will give way to ankle depth without warning. A poky stick is recommended.

On the first day of Christmas.....

On the first day of Christmas music gave to me 'Andience' from the 'Andy's', and my first gig of the year. Relatively new, Music of the Andys have already established themselves as a band with depth and substance, and oodles of potential. I say relatively new, that is as a band, Andy Roger is long term twiddler and twister for the legendary Here and Now Band and really knows his electronic onions, and guitarist Andy Burrows is....Well, I don't know, he must have come from somewhere, though I know not where. Unless of course, he's magic, and if you've seen him play then that's a credible suggestion. Anyways, together they create the finest of auditory immersions, wonderful musical textures and landscapes, surfed over by blistering spaced out guitar. Smashing stuff, from nice fellows. Word is there's an album just over the horizon, which will be most excellent, and in the meantime there are few tracks already available on Bandcamp, such as the drifty trance 'Goose of Perception'.  You want to get in now, next thing you know they'll only be playing stadiums and you'll have missed out. Don't say I didn't warn you.  

The 12 days of Christmas

I found it's been a great year for music, both live and recorded music. So I want to do my own take on Twelvetide or the 12 days of Christmas, a musical version. There's no preference inferred by the band/number/day association, as you'll see all the bands are excellent. So, on the first day of Christmas, music gave to me.....

Holly!

Well! As if by some magic, a single Holly tree laden with bright red berries appeared to me today. I reckon is was magic. I think the forest had watched me searching, felt I'd paid my dues and done me a favour. I walked near 5 miles today, and at the furthest point of my walk, just before I turned for my return, I stepped over a hillock and there in perfect isolation stood this Holly heavy with fruit.  Laughing, I thanked the forest, and pushing a coin into a hollow in the Holly's gnarled trunk I thanked the tree. Man, there were so many berries on this tree, more than normally on a tree. Just as I wondered why there were no berries, I'm wondering why there were so many berries on this one isolated tree? Still, very grateful.

Winter Solstice sunset

Well, that's that then, the year is over. The final sunset of the year marks the end of shortest day, the last day of the Holly Kings reign. The Oak King takes the throne now. If we're lucky a new sun will rise tomorrow and a new year, another cycle, will have begun. I will not mourn the years passing, although there were good times, and good memories were made, there were too many hard times and too many sad times. It's only natural, I know, that's the nature of life. For the most part I count my blessings, I'm not stupid I understand the complaints of first worlders lack credibility in light of global suffering, but still, our woes are our woes, personal and still real to us; it's all relative. A world in chaos, a failing climate and the prevailing political paradigm shift to the right, seems to make the shit hit harder though, make it harder to pick yourself up. Maybe that's age, as experience and cynicism colour our perspectives. I suppose hope is all we've ever had, though it increasing appears a forlorn hope at best, and a weapon against us at worst. Still, here's to hope, and something better. I wish you flags, flax, fodder and Frigg, and all you'd wish for yourselves in the new cycle.

No Holly to speak of

Where's all the bloody Holly? I've been looking for days, and wherever I've walked there are plenty of Holly trees (the forest is stuffed with them) though none have berries on them. Around the base of some I've seen a few berries, so there must have been some, 'been' being the right tense. I walked for 3.5 miles through Holly rich woodland (it's called Berry Wood, which is a bit of a clue) this afternoon and this was only Holly berry I saw. I wonder the reason?

Sunset

I spent 40 minutes watching the sun disappear below the Purbeck Hills this evening; it was time well spent. I watched as the sky slowly slowly absorbed colour until the intense colour flooded it. I watched as those colours endlessly morphed into ever deepening rich hues. I think my mouth may have been open, slack jawed local style, as I watched transfixed. Finally after reaching their zenith I watched as those colours darkened faded and slowly drained as twilight fell.What my photos can't show is the sound of bird-call which filled the air, a symphony of sound, which although you could only see a few birds, was surely the sound of hundreds of birds in unison and completion.  Tonight’s sunset was a spiritual thing, for sure. 

Tout

Sticking out into Worbarrow Bay, but for a thin piece of connecting land, Worbarrow Tout is all but an island. Known to our group as 'Mud Mountain' on account of the viscus marl clays which we clamber up to reach the summit. The tout may not cover an extensive area, though what there is is packed with groovy stuff. If you dig geology then there's plenty to float your boat here; mad stratigraphy, layers through time exposed one on top of another, a deep slab of our planets history. Huge boulders encrusted with Gypsum deposits, as well as dinosaur foot prints, fossils, and a fantastic rocky intertidal, with rock ledges thrusting seaward. Although it's all very nice and interesting, it's also really hard going, uneven loose surfaces, made slippery when wet, make it difficult terrain to negotiate.  Inevitably we'll go out along the intertidal and return up through a wide shallow gully towards the end of the tout (pic3, if you look carefully there's a person at the bottom for scale). It may be quite an undertaking when wet, and a touch scary whenever, and you come out on a narrow spur of the end of the tout with a short steep slope off a high cliff, which you need to keep in mind; even with all that said it still makes for an easier return. Now, I'm not that good with heights, and sometimes I'm worse than others, I remember at least 2 occasions over the years that when, after the long climb, I'd reached the top of the tout and had to crawl until I felt safe. Today was not so bad, I just did a hurried stooped walk, whilst cussing. Well, you've got to make your walks interesting. It is always worth it, the views from the touts rough grass summit are always stunning, and time was required to appreciate and acknowledge them. Far out.

Flowers Barrow

For the most part Purbeck appears to exist in timeless isolation, though its quiet façade hides an often rough and dramatic history. Purbeck's rugged coast and cliffs were worked by fishermen and quarrymen alike, its hills made for hard farming and harder toiling beneath them, whilst a smattering of military defences are testament to important Purbeck in our history. The land is layered with the relics of our past activities, with some sites showing a continuity in use which spans millennia. With its extensive views Flowers Barrow, high on the Purbeck coast, is one such site. With its impressive Iron Age ramparts and ditches, its Second World war pillbox, an observation post, rusting tank hulks and target markers (it's currently within the Lulworth firing ranges), Flowers Barrow has a distinctly military flavour. And although, its ancient ramparts may have half slipped into the sea, with its World War Two monuments slowly following them, it still commands this stretch of the coast and remains a predominant landmark. I could easily just sit up here and watch the day go by, especially on day as beautiful as today.

Signs of a crime

The forest is full of secrets and hidden things, you only see so much from the paths, it's when you step off the path and take your own route that the forest will reveal her secrets. You don't have to go too far off either.  Walking through a stand I came across three leather handbags, their contents emptied and scattered. A 'Body Shop' mirror, a phone case, some 'Boots' breath mints, a comb, notebook, a set of concreted and rusty keys, peoples things. They'd clearly been laying there for some years, the bags have been eaten through, their contents faded, perished and decayed. Any paperwork or identification long rotted away. I would imagine these were all deposited at the same time, probably taken from cars in nearby car parks to really piss people off and blight their day during some distant summer. You'd be surprised at how many robbed and discarded handbags I've found on my wanders, in excess of 10!  I should imagine the forest has seen countless robbers and scoundrels over the centuries, it must have been a wild and lawless place at times.  

Pigs still doing their thing

It must have been a really good year for acorns, as Pannage continues into December.  Nowadays there are handfuls of pigs out at pannage during the season, a couple of hundred or so in all, though in the 1800's the number would have been in excess of 5000. Imagine what that would have been like. Makes think what the forest must have been like in those days.  

The colour drained away

I think this photo perfectly reflects the nature of this afternoons walk. The sky was a succession of open blue expanses and amorphous rugs of grey cloud, as they changed place so the nature of the day and the aspect of the forest changed. Whilst the skies were blue, and the sun shone, there was a vibrancy to the day, though as the clouds obscured the sun, so the colour and vibrancy of the day drained, and the atmosphere of the forest changed. I'm not moaning, mind, it was lovely walking throughout.

Bare naked ladies

No, not a follow on from yesterdays post on that 'sex' graffiti, these bare naked ladies are the forests beech. The queens of the forest, now bereft of their cloak of autumn hues, they stand proud silhouettes again the cool winter skies. The canopies may have fallen though these majestic trees are just as stunning.  I've mentioned Bratley Woods beauty before, a never enclosed open deciduous semi ancient/ancient woodland, it has a timeless quality about it.  It really is beautiful at any time of the years; it makes you sigh.  You'd imagine it always being there, both in the past and into the future, although even the most cursory glance around you will show a stark reality. Once one tree succumbs to the ravages of the elements the woodlands armour is weakened, storms get inside and more trees are slighted, and so on, and so on, until the woodland is no more. This wouldn't be a problem naturally, as as old trees fell, new samplings would take advantage and  prosper. The woodland renewed. Though as I've mentioned before, due to overgrazing by increasing numbers of deer and ponies, there are few saplings to fill the gaps.  Sadly, this afternoons walk, stunning as it was, saw more recent casualties in Bratley Wood, more ancient trees laid waste. I know nature is ever changing, and ever renewing, but this is different, none of the actions effecting the forests trees are natural (as such), our overstocking and manipulation (too many deer and ponies, with no predators), coupled with climate Change (erratic weather with increased episodes of extremes) is destroying the forest I know.  Still, if I thought about that too much when out in the forest, I'd be walking around crying. So I embrace what I see and I'm thankful I get to see it. I hope for change, even though at times I may feel it a forlorn hope. I hope because to loose these ancient woodlands would be too unforgivable a crime.

Sex

Graffiti like this never fails amuse and bemuse, what was the motivation? Was it a desperate request to fulfil an unfulfilled desire or celebratory affirmation of fulfilment, or was it an advertisement for saucy forest pop up shop? We'll never know. I also wonder if the folk that carve the forests graffiti remember doing it, or ever returned to the scene of their whittling.

Winter sunset at the quay

It rained throughout the day until just before sundown, though it was too late for any sun beyond a thin line on the horizon above the Purbeck Hills.

Steaming

Steaming! No, not me, the forest. It was one of those perfect winters days today, it was chilly cold as you walked through a carpet of ice frosted leaves, low in the sky the sun shore brightly with just enough warmth to undo Jack's work where it touched. It was a day of two halves. Steam rose off every surface exposed to the sun, whilst Jack held the shade, and you could certainly feel the difference. Bloody lovely.

The cannon bone's connected to the .....

The cannon bone's connected to the......., well, it should be the carpal bones, though in this case it appears to be the stream bed. I'm assuming that's a pony's cannon bone, it's been some years since I took bone analysis, and then it was only an archaeological module. What I mainly remember from the module was an occasion when one of the younger students, Joe, a nice lad, was caught by the lecturer making boner jokes, he had his back to the door as the lecturer walked in...classic, oh how we mocked him. I shouldn't imagine this bone was purposely deposited in some strange forest ritual, rather it probably washed into the stream from a the skeleton of a fallen pony after it's been scavenged and disarticulated by other forest dwellers. Rarely do things go to waste in nature.

Ice

The forest now has a proper wintry feel to it. I saw my first real ice of the season whilst out briefly in the forest today. The water in the puddles through Linford Bottom has been transformed, liquid made solid, all were capped in a good thickness of clear ice. The ice on some puddles has been smashed, with the broken pieces spread and looking like shattered glass. I dig winter when it's cold, I'd rather it be cold than wet.

Black Water back water

The stands are bare, the forest is opening up again, with the canopy gone and the bracken dying back, views not seen since springs burgeoning are being revealed. With each season the forest becomes a different place, the same spots take on strikingly different aspects.  I've regularly sat here on the bank of Black Water as it passes along the edge of Vinney Ridge Enclosure for more years than I can remember. I've watched this particular gravel bar expand and shrink, almost disappear only to reappear bigger, sometimes bare others capped with grass, yearly being remodelled by the flow. Although perpetually in flux it remains strangely consistent. Over the years I've had little fires on it, cooked on it, brewed up on it, and dozed in the shade of the young trunks to the side of it. I know this place. It's strange how favoured spots develop, something must draw us to them in the first place, then we just keep coming back, each time imbuing them further. 

The Christmas shroom

Ah, this is where nearly all our Christmas folklore and traditions originate; the midnight flights of a jolly man decked in red and white, who pulled by reindeer through the sky, brings gifts in the depths of winters embrace, all evolved from shamanic pagan practice and story around the psychedelic Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria) mushroom.  So, Christmas is effectively based around a trip.

Tree beats wire

It would appear in a game of rock, paper, tree, scissors, wire; tree beats wire. Somewhere in the depths of my memory, I'm sure I remember seeing this wire just as the tree was consuming it. That could have been 30 years ago, thinking about it. At the time the wire was running through a fork in the young trunk, the new bark of both just covering it. The wire's now a good 30cm down from the fork, well within the main trunk.

Last full Moon of the year

Sitting by the roaring fire, which is taking the chill of the air nicely, bathed in that most wonderful of lights, moonlight, I feel connected. Connected to the movements of the heavens, to the seasons, to nature, to time, and connected through time to those endless ancestral generations of ours, to whom sitting round a fire was natural, a fundamental part of their lives.  I love that timelessness, looking up at the same moon, it makes me feel human in a world increasingly plastic and devoid of humanity. Initially, and for the most part, the skies remained clear for the last full Moon of the year, the Cold Moon, a Super Moon, and her majesty was clearly seen, later though, as the evening passed, the clouds gathered to obscure the sky. Winter's certainly here, step away from the fire side and you know it. It's hard to beat nights like this; crisp air, clear skies, glowing moon, ritual, music (Archive, Cary Grace, Stones from the Sky, and John Martyn), fire, and some Calvados to loosen the gears, apples seemed seasonally appropriate.

Forever in flower

Forever in flower, Gorse (Ulex) can always be relied upon to bring colour to the forest. The different species of Gorse and their flexible flowering habit ensure they're always in flower somewhere. Common Gorse (Ulex europaeus) is our most widespread species and can flower throughout the year if it wants, though is most profuse in spring, when (if you have iron fingers or are willing to endure continuous pain) the flowers can be collected and turned into a nice dry white flower wine.  Lovely. 

Sands of time

Graffiti marks a moment in time, though this graffiti carved in to the the brightly coloured sands of Redend Points sandstone cliffs will not stand the test of time. Layer upon layer of overlapping graffiti, much undecipherable, cover all the exposed and accessible sandy surfaces of the Point, where most of the exposed sandstone is at the red/yellow end of the colour spectrum and create perfect swirling canvases, easy to carve into too.  

War torn or just forlorn

Slighted, though for the most part not in war; much of the World War Two archaeology on Goldlingston Heath and the Studland peninsula were just left forlorn, and have fallen to the ravages of time, a different battle in an endless war. A lot of the areas wartime sites were war torn, it's true, though not by an enemy, but by the allies; the Studland peninsula was an off limits secret training and weapons testing area. The beaches saw rolling artillery and rocket barrages from landing craft, the development and testing of 'Hobarts Funnies', and all manner of other preparations for defence and the D-Day invasion, culminating in live fire exercises watched by massed allied commanders. From the invasion fears period of 1940, right through to the end of the war, Studland saw military activity, in fact, it was so heavily used that it wasn't until the 1960's that areas of the beaches and dunes were cleared of ordinance and re-opened to the public. Some years back I had to call the rangers to contact Bomb Disposal after discovering a live wartime rocket protruding at 45 degrees amongst the dunes. The above sites; the remaining section of a line of Anti Tank Obstacles (ATO's)  at Bramble Bush Bay and a Type 25 Pillbox beneath Redend Point survived the war years intact, and haven't done too badly since, though the rigours of time are beginning to show, and the cracks are beginning to appear. I first saw these sites in the 70's and have witnessed their decline first hand. Over the years the ATO's have become undercut and are toppling, and as for the Pillbox, I remember when it was still well up the cliff side, rather than in the intertidal.  I suppose it's quite a wonder that they endure at all, after all most of the Studland peninsulas wartime sites, as with military buildings throughout the country at the time, were constructed in haste and with diminishing resources. 15 years ago I spent a lot of time recording the wartime sites on Goldlingston Heath and the Studland peninsula, I feel it may be time for a review of them.