In the March post, I suggested we might get a bit of sun in April. We might see a flood of tourists. It didn’t happen. April has been cold. Wintry at times. There were a number of mornings that I had to scrape ice off my windscreen. This is rather rotten behaviours from the weather gods. I blame Trump. And Brexit.

This month features a range of subjects mostly in the Bournemouth area. But there is a sneak appearance by the nephew, Master J. And a friend, who wanted some photos for his music label something or other. There is one photo from Portsmouth. If you look careful, you can see the two structures that tower above the runway on the new aircraft carrier, HMS Prince Charles.

Finally, there’s a shot from the National Covid Memorial wall. It’s quite something. A half mile of hearts, painted on a wall, each one representing a Covid death.



Hurrah, I have a well deserved week off from the toils and tribulation of the railway. I’ve been looking forward to this break for months and I have a comprehensive plan to make the most of it. It goes like this…

  • Six nights in Malta.

Which made it look suspiciously similar to almost every plan I made in 2020. Which was jolly rubbish. Everything cancelled, shut down or bankrupt. Leisure travel is forbidden. No planes, no trains and I’m only allowed to drive my automobile so far. That’s to say, not very far. Stay Local something or other. Frankly, I’m quite fed up with this pandemic thing and sometimes, in my more evil moments, I wish they’d use the thousands of dead bodies that Boris helped to kill to fill in the English Channel. Then I can at least walk to France. I’m sure there’s enough of them by now. It’s what they’d have wanted. Probably. It’s certainly what Boris wanted. He’s very big on ridiculous bridges. A Bridge of Cadavers would be right up his alley. Anyway, what’s the point in simply ‘piling them high’? A mountain of bodies? This is one international event where being a big show off is a bit of a bad look, if we’re going to be honest.

I guess I’d best get on with the ironing and fix the broken door hinge.


Spring Break

Spring is the best season in Bournemouth, just ahead of autumn. Winter and summer are both dreadful. The former because it’s so cold, bleak and bloody miserable. The latter because the town swells with tourists, from a population of about eighty thousand up to several billion. Or so it seems.

A decent spring, April through to June, with co-operative weather, can be jolly nice. The beaches are empty, the town centre is pleasant to walk through and the traffic is just at normal levels of grid lock, not the super grid lock we get in summer.

This spring is already looking a bit busier than normal though. Every cafe and restaurant has set up shop outside, on the pavement. It’s all a little bit European. Which is a bit ironic really, given the politics of the last few years. Still, I like Euro pavement culture. We could rename the town Bôurnemouth d’Azur. And now that everyone has gotten over the initial excitement of the shops all reopening, it’s all beginning to look and feel more like it should.

I’m going to make the most of this spring. I’m going to enjoy it. Because this summer is going to be a staycation summer in the UK, and Bournemouth is going to be hell on earth*. Or Bôurnemouth d’Hades, if we’re sticking with Eurospeak.

* but it will also be the much needed shot in the arm for local businesses.