Greetings from the Isle of Wight. 

Yet another day of gale-force winds, but thankfully the rain has held off. The caravan creaks and groans under the invisible battering it’s getting at the moment. I spent the morning in Ryde, the town on the beach, and walked up the substantial hill that is Union Street to where all the shops are. Down near the pier the contractors are working on a makeover to the bus station and surrounding shops/cafes. I’m not sure how long the work is going to last for, but it’s inconvenient that the ‘conveniences’ have now been demolished in the process.

Ryde, like Ventnor, is full of quaint little shops, the sort that you can browse in for ages. There’s a Victorian shopping arcade selling retro clothes, LPs, and anything old. I hope they never demolish it, because it screams of L.P Hartley’s statement ‘the past is a foreign country‘. Every time I walk in there I expect to see crinoline-clad ladies, and gentlemen wearing frock coats and stove-pipe hats. However, today there were two Lycra-wearing mothers who sat by the fountain chatting and checking their phones every few minutes while ignoring their toddlers who grew ever more fractious.

It is possible to walk along the seafront from Ryde to Puckpool, and I did this today, along with quite a few other hardy Brits. A force 10 gale isn’t going to put us off our daily constitutional! Seafront cafes are now all open, the clocks go forward early on Sunday morning, and the weather is utterly abysmal. Still, at least I’m not on a rocking-and-rolling ferry, although I will be on Tuesday as I’ll be crossing the Solent as a foot passenger. Sam will pick me up early on the Dark Side, as we have to attend a family funeral. He’ll bring me back later that day in time to catch the evening ferry, and then disappear home to finish painting and fighting with a new carpet. 

The Internet is patchy, and it’s not always possible to connect.  Nevertheless I shall try and post some updates when I can.