Wednesday 11th July 2018

"There is always a disappointing football match"

Oh yes, those words rang in my ears until the small hours as I lay in bed waiting for the revellers to quieten down outside that evening.

In case you missed it, England lost the semi final, and didn't play that well, although did take the lead and could have scored more in the first half. But, Croatia pressed in the second half, equalised midway through the half, and then in extra time just overran England and scored the winner; England could offer nothing more, no plan B, so are out.

I guess I will write more over the weekend, but there you have it.

The day began with me waking up after a disturbed night's sleep, but in the cool of the morning, felt fine to go and do some work, as that is why we were there.

I have a shower, get dressed and go down for breakfast. I could have gone for the fat boy option, but instead had smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, which was light enough. Tim joined me and had the same.

The island is surprisingly blessed with industry and retail parks, so that the road between Cowes and Newport was a queue of cars and trucks, we inched along to get to the factory, turning down the lane leading to it and arriving just on eight. And we were not expected.

This is where blades for the turbines are made, and this was an internal visit to align expectations, so nothing heavy. We sign in and are met by our host, who takes us to a the meeting room where we get down to business.

Once we were done, we were taken on a tour of the factory, and nothing can prepare you for how big the blades are: 85m long, and wide enough at the root end to drive a London double decker bus into! I asked if he had go used to the size, and his reply was that all other blades seem so small now, this is the morm.

After dinner once we are done, Tim and I discuss what do do for the rest of the day. I could look at churches all afternoon, but clearly this would not be for Tim. So we agree to go to Alum Bay then walk the mile to Needles Battery to look out onto the famous chalky outcrops and the Needles Lighthouse.

The island is surprisingly big, and a drive from the factory to Alum Bay, the sat nav told me, would take 40 minutes. It directed us along A roads, then down narrow lanes, through woods, up and down chalky downs, through small picturesque villages filled with thatched cottages and roads so two cars could not pass.

Finally the road began to rise one final time, and in the distance I could see the familiar shape of chalk downs cut by erosion, so they had created sheer chalk cliffs, like Shakespeare Cliff back in Dover.

£5 to park, we find a space, I get out my camera gear, for once the big boy lens on one body and the nifty fifty on the other. We gird our loins and set off, middle of the hottest part of the day.

The route is along an old military road, cut into the chalk, with the down climbing on the left hand side, and dropping steeply away to the bay on the right. Flowers were everywhere on both sides, and for free I give Tim a free botanical tour, though not sure he appreciated it that much. We pass a steady stream of people coming the other direction, having made it to the point and were no on their way back.

The cliffs of Alum Bay are famous for having multi-coloured sands, and from the road the bright colours of the different stratas were reflected in the blue waters of the bay; quite stunning.

At the tip of the point, the road turned north and up the down, while a short road lead down to the former battery, now a National Trust place; we go down to the batter, pay another £7.50 each to go in. We get an ice cream as we enter, as it was darn hot.

The reason for paying to go in was the views down to the outcrops and lighthouse below, which did deliver in spades the spectacular shots I was hoping for.

We stay for half an hour, and I take many shots, of course.

The battery was from the napoleonic wars, and the cliffs were tunnelled through and more locations for firing cannons from were dug out, It must have been a remote posting in the 19th century, stuck on the very tip of the island, waiting for an invasion that never came.

We leave, walking back up the slope then down the road back to the car park, with the sun on our backs. A board at the NT place said Glanville Fritillaries had been seen, so I was on the lookout for them, I saw many Marbled White, Meadow Browns, blues which I guess were Chalkhills, and a single Fritillary, band I get a distant shot, but the detail showed it to be a Silver Washed not Glanville.

Oh well.

At the car park we split, Tim to explore in his car and me to look for churches, I had postcodes, so program one in near Ventnor, and set off.

The road along the southern coast was very much like the coast road on Skye, remote and twisting and turning. I did not stop, as I was on a mission, but there were wide sandy beaches, clifftop walks and people in paragliders soaring just above the road.

Ventnor is at the base of a chalk cliff with a face of something like 45 degrees, the slope is heavily wooded and crisscrossed by narrow lanes and roads, and it was here that the first church was. It was just after a single track hairpin bend, and there was nowhere to park at all. I drove on a while and the road dropped down further, so I abandoned the idea of going to that church, and with it now being gone four, decided just to go back to the hotel.

The way back crisscrossed over the island again, through small villages with picturesque churches and pubs, but I press on. Newport was busy with traffic again, but easy enough to get through to Cowes, where I go straight to the car park and once paid the three pounds for the overnight stay, walk back carrying my camera bag and work bag, cursing myself in my mind for my hobby.

My room was broiling hot, I close the curtain and have another cool shower. In fact the day had clouded over so it wasn't quite so hot, cool enough to lay on the bed listening to music until it was time to go down to the bar at six to claim a table from which to see the game.

I order a beer, and sit at a table right in front of the TV; Tim joined me after 15 minutes so we watch the preamble, it all seemed set for a great night.

But it was not to bed.

The bar was packed by seven, and when England scored I thought the roof was going to come off. But that was as good as it got, as Croatia stepped up in the second half, and it all went wrong.

Outside the revellers sang sad songs, but not with much gusto. I guess it calmed down as midnight approached, and I finally dropped off to sleep.