Back in Britain, but still on hols for a few days, so we potter about on the edge of the New Forest. Something’s a bit weird here – we’re in the west still but we comment that it almost feels like the south-east in terms of obvious affluence and architecture. This view is strengthened on a trip into Lymington on a market day – the accents (and the comments from some of the shoppers – I won’t repeat them for fear of causing offence) make us feel we’re on the edge of London.
But no worries, there’s mistletoe down there on the quayside – in a twee little park on some little thorn trees. Why hasn’t it all been picked at Christmas? Er, ‘cos it’s largely male – so won’t have berries. (Perhaps all the female plants have been picked…)
(Note Isle of Wight ferry in background)