Wednesday 21st November 2018

I woke with a raging allergy attack going on. No reason why, but within minutes of getting up, I was struggling to breathe, sneezing loads and the rest.

I am now fed up with this, it is just two months into my allergy season, four to go, and No matter what I do seems to make no difference, after having such a good year last winter, now this.

Jools had the rest of the week of to do gardening, so once we have coffee she goes out to continue taking the stones up from the front garden and general weeding and dead plant clearance as she had a ton of manure being delivered later in the day.

I stay inside and start work, I was travelling later in the day so I wanted to be as up to date as possible.

At eleven, I stop work, pack so Jools and I could have lunch together. We feast on cheese and crackers, though I have a cuppa with them, as I had many miles to drive.

She takes me to the docks so I could collect my car, a Hyundai hybrid things, which looked OK, and the dash like something from Star Trek when I tried to start it. It was using the electric motor, so there was no noise. I put it into gear and tried to pull away. No luck.

I tried again, and again, but each time there seemed to be a handbrake on. I searched the dash and centre consul, but could find nothing that looked like a brake, nor labelled as such.

As I was about to get out, I see something in the footwell, a foot-operated handbrake, apparently. I release that and try to move off, which the car does smoothly.

I drive back home, and the car seems to have plenty of power, just gauges everywhere, four of them, showing what the hybrid was doing. What it all meant, I had no idea. One large dial marked "charge", seemed to be dropping in an alarming way; should i be worried? I knew not.

But it settled down, I had 6 Music on the radio, and all was well. The car ate up the miles, at least once we got through the Brexit roadworks where work continues to create the huge lorry park out of the main motorway to Europe, it must make sense to someone.

Onto the M25, traffic a bit manic, but the sun was out, so all was well with the world. I sang along to the radio and swore at the other drivers.

And then down the M3 to SOuthampton, driving into the setting sun, fact full of bright light. Always something to complain about, apparently.

I drive into the city, down a long busy road through leafy suburbs, all lanes that appeared and vanished with no real reason. Round roundabouts, though shopping areas to the docks area, then along the rover to the port and ferry terminal.

I had arrived safe and sound, and in time for the earlier ferry and with enough time for a brew too. So, I treat myself to a mince pie, although its still November.

Nom nom nom.

Time to board, and we have lots of places to park then up to the promenade deck to get some shots as darkness fell on the city and the near full moon rose.

We leave on time, and with darkness quickly fell, but was able to get lots of shots of the docks and shops, all lit my strong light. But it was chilly, chilly enough to drive me into the lounge to read Rail magazine, until the captain announced we were arriving in East Cowes, and time to get back to the car and see if I can remember how it started.

I do, so we are allowed to drive off, I drive round the block to wait to get onto another ferry, the chain ferry, or floating bridge as they like to call it, to Cowes where the hotel was. You could take the road, but it takes half an hour and the traffic in Newport would be awful.

It was just a ten minute wait, the ferry clunked over the river and allowed its load off, then we were allowed to board. It is £2.60 for the two minute crossing, which is pretty much a licence to print money I would think, but then its not rush hour all of the time.

The sat nav takes me round the maze of side streets, over a hill and down onto the promenade at genteel West Cowes, and the hotel was there, just over the road from the water's edge.

I check in and am given a room on the ground floor, it has one mean small window overlooking a small walled garden, in daylight I see its not grassed but covered by astroturf.

At seven I go down to dinner, against my better judgement, as there is something sady and travelling salesman about eating in a hotel dining room, and this was no different, but the food was passable, even if the panoramic view of the Solent were invisible, and we could just see our reflections staring back at us. I had garlic tiger prawns followed by lamb tagine which was served with propper boiled English vegetables that had been on simmer for months, apparently.

Only trouble was, was that my two colleagues were travelling in from Denmark on the late flight into LCY, then had to get across LOndon, catch a train to either Southampton or Portsmouth, then a ferry to the island where I would collect them. I said.

There are several ferry routes to the island, and each arrive at a different berth or town on the north coast. They ended up catching one to Ryde, where I had been on my last visit, and they would arrive at quarter past eleven, so I said I would be there, as promised.

Words cannot do Ryde pier justice, it is a ramshackle place in the day, all rusty beams and supports, with a wooden roadway on one side, and 1938 Tube stock trundling to the station on the other. At at eleven o'clock at night, with a keen breeze blowing, it is quite a grom place indeed.

I wait and take some shots, which come out even with the compact, which is amazing.

Katharina and Kate arrive, very tired from their trip from Aarhus, we get in the car, then drive back across the island, through Newport, where Katharine is mazed to see there was a Lidl on the island, as she thought it was a tiny place.

We arrive at the hotel at quarter to midnight, time enough for bed I think.