Monday 4th March 2024

On the road again.

A double quick return to the Isle of Wight for a dose of more auditing.

So, you know the drill, up in the morning, go to get a hire car, book the ferry to the Island and once packed, set off.

Jools had taken the day off, so we laid in to six, then go up, fed cats, made coffee.

So far, so normal.

But no work at seven, instead at ten to eight, Jools drove me into town dropping me off at the bottom of Castle Hill, leaving me to walk round to their yard. Meanwhile, Jools went for a walk, swimming and so on.

I was given a Nissan Juke which only had 72 miles on the clock.

Drove back home to have breakfast and pack.

Meaning I was on the road just before nine, and if all went well I would be on the island by half two, maybe earlier if I made an even earlier sailing.

And to make it more possible, there were few issues on the drive up to London, and then cruise along the M25 to the top of the M3 back south to Southampton.

It was a grand day, sunny with dramatic skies full if clouds, and it seemed perfect day for travel.

I reached the terminal at quarter to one, and I could see a ferry in dock, s it seemed simple to check in and board.

Cue member of stressed staff approach me:

What time you booked for sailing?

Three, but I got a flexi ticket.

We full.

But I have a flexi ticket...

There's been an incident, and we are very busy, I was told.

Can you come back "later"? Suggesting I might be able to get on the booked sailing.

I drove out towards the New Forest, back out along the main road out of the city, hoping to find a place to stop and have lunch.

I found a huge "fun" pub, cavernous, with two staff waiting and me the only customer.

I ordered a pint of coke and settled down to read and pass away two hours.

Time dragged.

I tried to read more of Frankenstein, which I am really beginning to dislike.

A text arrived. Be at the terminal for your booked sailing. So, I was able to drive back into town to the quay, arriving just after two, and once booked in, sat and listened to a podcast.

The ferry arrived at half two, unloaded, then a few cars at a time, we were allowed on.

I went up to the open deck to wait for departure.

It was cool, but bearable, and once just about both decks were rammed, the ramps were lifted, engines surged and off we went.

I stayed on deck until we got level with Fawley, and saw that all of the old power station had gone, including the old brutalist concrete control building, I went back down into the cab for a coffee and a Yorkie.

It was much luck to pick this week to come over when the floating bridge is closed for annual maintenance, so this means driving from East Cowes to Newport and then once over the river, which by then is a stream, back north to West Cowes.

With all traffic going the same way.

It was nose to tail to the racecourse, in pouring rain too, then into Newport, through the narrow streets, but turning off before the one way system started.

Maybe not as bad as feared, but the five minutes over the floating bridge took 40 minutes.

But I arrived at the hotel, checked in and agreed to to book dinner for half six.

And that was that really.

The hotel was pretty busy, with most tables full. I took one near the window, but there was just the inky blackness of the Solent at night and my sad reflection staring back at me.

Some kind of fried soufflé followed by roast beef hit the spot, washed down by a pint of local ale, then back up the room to watch Arsenal grind Sheffield Utd into the ground, winning 0-6.