Wednesday 9th January 2019

I suppose having not travelled for nearly three weeks, it was about time I did I suppose.

I had what should be my last trip to the Isle of Wight to do, so all the usual stuff that comes with it.

Like Jools dropping me off in town on her way to work, so I could take some snaps before walking along the prom to the Eastern Docks to pick up the hire car. Which is what I did.

The town was quite. I wandered through the St James development and was surprised to see that the area has not one by tow Costa Coffees and a Greggs, as well as a Burger King and a Nandos too. I can’t see them all surviving. But who knows.

Dawn was coming, so the lights showed up well against the navy blue sky. Few people were out, just a few people in orange workwear getting a gallon of coffee from the one Costa that was open.

I walk through to the main square, then under the A20 to Newbridge and onto the promenade, walking slowly as I had half an hour to kill I met a guy in a van with a motorbike on trailer having a fresh brew who, like me, was admiring the dawn, He had driven all the way from Greece and was making his way back home. Or not. He hadn’t decided.

I like the sound of that kind of life, though not compatible with cats, mind.

I have to wait for the office to open, so I am entertained by a rotund Greek gentleman playing Europop very loudly on his mobile. In the bleak surroundings of the departure waiting hall, it actually brightened up the place and drowned pout the regular warnings of not leaving your possessions unattended. Another woman had been there two days waiting to be deported, she was allowed to stay there if she made no fuss, so was scrounging tabs off anyone who looked like they smoked.

It’s a grim place.

I was given a tiny Hyundai thing, underpowered and only had 5 gears. We did not get on and I would stall it at regular intervals the rest of the day.

I drive back home to have breakfast, book the ferry crossing and then load the car up. Lots to do.

At least the roadworks making the M20 ready for Brexit have either finished or are paused, as there was no speed limits, so the drive was pleasant, though I did just cruise at 60, just enjoying the sunny day and the music on the radio.

Traffic on the M25 was amazingly light, I am ahead of time, need to stop for lunch, so go into Winchester, as you do.

I have three hours before the ferry and 45 minutes to get there. I could spare a couple of hours.

I park where I did before, with the tiny car, it was easy to squeeze into a space, and I even manage to climb the stairs to the street and not need take the lift.

I had a ticket for the cathedral, as the one I bought last time was valid for a year. So, I flash that and am in.

But the floor of the nave was being refurbished, all cordoned off, looking like a motorway being resurfaced, not the prettiest thing to see. But above that the columns and roof were stunning, and in the quire, chancel and the side chapels, all were just amazing, and again, not many people about.

After I have gone round and shot everything again, this time with the wide angle lens, I go outside and hunt for lunch. I was hoping for a currywurst like I had last time, but he wasn’t there, so I made do with a flatbread filled with chorizo and chicken, all grilled in spices. It was marvellous.

I go back to the car, and let the sat nav guide me back to the motorway, then into Southampton and to the docks, where the early ferry had just left meaning I had left, so I had 80 minutes to kill. So, after checking in, I park the car in a waiting lane and head off into town, up a street opposite the dock, where a handy streetside map told me a church was.

It was right, the parish church, the only one left standing inside the old city walls, and very plain and Victorian it looked from the outside, but inside it was partly Norman, with the Chancel arch apparently dating from the 11th century. Around it was mostly Victorian, but done with restraint. A chance wander had brought me to see this fantastic chancel arch.

On the way back to the car I call in at a fine old timber-framed pub, The Duke of Wellington and find they had six Wadworth beers on tap. I was in heaven. I foolishly had a pint of the old strong ale, but it was glorious, which I downed in four gulps. I had to get back to the car.

As I arrived back at the dock, the ferry was just arriving, so I climb in the car to wait until it was boarding time.

Once on board, I went to sit in the restaurant and sat beside one of the large windows on the side of the ship and read as the boat pulled out. I did not go out onto the dock at all. Instead I fought sleep thanks to the beer as we crossed the Solent.

Once on the island, I drive off, round the block and queue for the chain ferry to take me from East Cowes into Cowes. And once over the river, through the narrow streets to the hotel, where a day’s e mails were waiting for me.

There was no avoiding it, the rest of the day would be spend replying to mails.

But come seven, I am hungry enough to look for something to eat, and tired enough not to be bothered with walking into town, so I dine in the restaurant, in the company of four boisterous gas fitters who are the life and soul, kinda. I mean, they are having a fine time away from home, working, two complain about their wives forcing them to be vegetarian or vegan. So, being away allows them to eat lots of meat, and drink some beer too. And why not.

I eat quietly away tucking into steak and ale pie, chips and peas. A whole load of peas. But they're a vegetable, right so coult as one of the five a day?

I believe so. I also have a beer, because, well, beer.

And that is that, back upstairs to listen to the radio and lie on the bed until sleep takes me.