A camera drone buzzes over the ruined royal apartments of Richard II in Portchester Castle breaking the silence like a mosquito in a bedroom on a summer’s night.
In the 1800’s three hundred prisoners were kept in the keep and their graffiti can be seen on the walls today. Those that died while incarcerated were buried in the mudflats and the tide occasionally reveal their remains.
Outside the Roman walls a teacher lectures her students with careful enunciation;
“The castle is surrounded by water on three sides for defensive purposes”,
“There’s no way you’d get a massive boat through there because; A, it’s too narrow – and B, oh I forgot where I was going there…”
A man is collecting sacks of seaweed – when asking him what for he tells me “Mulch for the garden – contains a lot of oxygen”
Two Yellow Wagtails and three Shire Horses. Whistle blows from an unseen sports field.
Beautifully canted victorian brick railway arches at Fareham. High street has a farmer’s market stall with a loudhailer “talk to me, it’s a good piece of meat”. The market seems to specialise in all-over wolf head t-shirts and fleeces of questionable taste.
Tapping of mast wires mix with the hum of traffic. “Well played” calls one golfer to another.
Forced away from the shore by the huge site at Defence Munitions Gosport. Surprised that the government agency ‘Defence Equipment and Support’ have their own logo comprising of tasteful sans-serif typeface and feel good amorphous purple graphic – in the style of a Premier Inn or mid-ranking accountancy firm.
The rustling of desiccated oak leaves in the breeze. Coach House Inn advertises ‘Arty’s not to be missed meat raffle’ people do like their meat around here.
HMS Alliance looming darkly its whale-like form held aloft behind a forest of white masts.