Nervous box of sparks

I had a visit at the weekend from a guy who I am lucky to call a friend and thoroughly enjoyable it was at that. This visit brought with it an opportunity to reflect since this visitor is a ‘long time listener first time caller’ as they say.

It was fantastic to see my old mate but I was also a little nervous at showing the Plough to such a close friend. I found that my pride for the old girl was tempered by my embarrassment at the long list of tasks that I have not yet started. For some reason this seemed a little like introducing the girlfriend to the parents (something I managed to avoid) so I could be found variously tidying and organising over the preceding days.

The good news is that the pub was warmly received and praised, this despite it being a relatively quiet March Sunday. I know, of course, that I would only get support from these quarters but it was nice to hear positive words about the place that is my home and my entire life. I also thank Paul for reinvigorating my seasonal preparedness with a kick-start of jet washing the deck. I am once again a flurry of cleaning/filling/painting in preparation for the new season.

In other news I have discovered that not all electricity companies supply the island. As contract renewal approaches I contracted a new (better value) supplier and all appeared well until they realised that not every PO post code is in Portsmouth. When they called me to explain that they do not supply the island I did my utmost to discover the reason but to no avail. I explained that I was not some early adopter and we had electricity on the island for some time, we even use square pin plugs! The sales girl was not budging they simply do not supply the island.

Was it postage I enquired? Some surcharge for shipping a box of sparks across the Solent or even the environmental risk of shipping electricity over water? The answer was steadfast they simply do not supply the island. In the end I had to concede defeat and move to an alternative supplier who, it would seem, is capable of posting an invoice to Shanklin.

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No thanks and the blame game

A young couple in the pub on Saturday night were questioning the last train home. They were not teenagers but his jeans looked like they had been attacked by a threshing machine and were 3 sizes to big. I have learnt that ridiculous looking clothing is a sure indication of “young”. Having decided that they had time for another drink they took to talking to some locals about the area and said that they were considering moving.

Apparently they lived in Chelmsford, a nearby town, and were not impressed. After glowing praise from the locals they hit the inevitable down side which is that there is no work so “if you can get to work from here”. This is another indication of age difference, we all assume that people have to work I guess you could call it senior naivety. Oh no they proclaimed “we don’t work” and went on to explain that they had 6 children and 3 grandchildren. Apparently the ‘viewing’ had involved visiting all of the pubs in town to see how they liked them.

If a single politician in this country should ever have a desire to know what is wrong, I hold out little hope, they wouldn’t go far wrong speaking to this couple. A state sponsored breeding machine who believes that they deserve to live somewhere nicer and whose priorities are the pubs! There are many reasons why it is nice where I live and one of them is that these people were only visiting.

I would also like to share with you a classic example of female logic (sorry girls). A woman got on the train today with a wheeled suitcase but it was upside down so she was dragging the case and the wheels were in free air. As she struggled with the case she didn’t once pause to look at what was causing the increased friction, she carried on cursing the case. Ladies next time you question men’s understanding of you think back to this, if an inanimate object gets blamed what hope do we have?

I have succeeded in not burning up once this weekend and only twice last week, neither associated with alcohol. I have taken to swallowing anti-histamines before visiting the pub but I think I will stop this next weekend as I am not convinced of the link. Thankfully I am seeing my doctor on Friday and not his lunatic colleague so perhaps we will make some headway.

In other news the exercising is clearly working as I have developed a small tear on lefty’s scar tethering. Because the scars grow into the muscle they are anchored to it rather than floating over the top as skin is supposed to. When the muscle works and grows it pulls at this tethering and the scar rises as it is irritated. I like to think that this is an indication of success.

Once again it has been lovely to watch my gorgeous isle as the sun nurtures trade and visitors. Watching local businesses emerging from the stark winter and discarding memories of floods. My twitter feed has been full of beautiful pictures and even sad farewells from solent crossings. I very much look forward to being a more active part of island life just as soon as I can.

Is it a Wightwash and Ms X

I will start this morning by congratulating a fellow early traveller, congratulations Ms X for getting to the station. I should point out that this morning’s train was half an hour earlier departing because of a diversion, something that happens regularly. The train departed in the normal direction and then stopped, the driver walked through and we set off again in the opposite direction. At the point that the driver walked through Ms X said, to nobody in particular, “I don’t know why it has to leave thirty minutes earlier, it only takes him 5 mins to change ends”. That somebody with such a limited knowledge of the world around her should make it all the way to the station and then the train is truly astounding, unless she got a lift.

Secondly I would like to thank my ‘Wight lot’ the wonderful guys and girls whose tweets keep me smiling and remind me where home is, thanks guys. The sight of the shimmering solent viewed from the golden beach of Southsea is enough to remind me I do have a purpose. It is only a matter of time until I’m home.

I would also like to share with you some observations from the world of beards. I haven’t shaved properly in 6 or 7 weeks which is a reasonable start to a beard, there is no reason for this I just kinda stopped. What I have discovered is that the world looks different from behind a hairy face, it really does. The first revelation was that women like beards, I always thought that they were as popular with women as salt is with slugs but no they seem to approve. Firstly let me clarify, women like beards but that doesn’t mean they like me so I’m still securely single. The only negative female comments have come from two women, both of whom are gay, who would have figured.

This morning’s revelation, which prompted the post, is that a bearded face is not the same as a non bearded one. Does that seem obvious? Well I guess it does but not so at 03:30 this morning! Having mistakenly placed soap in my bag last night I figured I would have a quick wash with hotel shower gel, big mistake. My face foamed up like a night club in Malaga! The more water I splashed the more I encouraged the rabid foaming which is quite confusing in the early hours. I eventually subdued the blanket of foam and set about my day with a mental note to purchase face wash, or is that beard wash?

Next up is that there is a beard club, really there is and you just need one to join. Bearded friends and colleagues comment on the beard and voice encouragement, it’s the male equivalent of taking a kitten to work. Quite why people feel they need to encourage an abstinence from shaving is beyond me, but that doesn’t stop them.

Apparently not all men can grow a beard so perhaps that’s why they feel the need to encourage others. This may explain why men in general feel the need to comment. Men don’t compliment haircuts or new shirts, we’re guys after all. As far as I can recall I’ve never felt the need to comment on a beard, except in a humorous manner. I am genuinely surprised by the number of guys that feel the need to comment or to let me know that “it suits me”. Let’s be clear I didn’t actually do anything, in fact I stopped doing something so you are complementing my laziness. Forgive me if I don’t respond correctly, I’m not being rude it’s just that I am new to this and find it, well rather odd.

Finally let me share what the psychologists have to say on beards, it surprised me. I always considered that facial hair symbolised hiding and deceit, after all its almost hiding your mouth isn’t it. I was wrong, apparently it is seen as a sign of honesty probably because shaving, like make up, is actually a disguise I guess.

Blue slipper, treacle and true love

Much to my surprise I am loving Twitter. It is not the ability to share inane but short messages or for the followers but for the connection. I have followed pretty much every link that includes the isle of wight and the regular updates make me feel even closer to my home to be. I am an avid follower of on the wight and county press but with twitter I can wake up to a picture or some snippet of news every day, what could be better.

Recent pictures of portsmouth harbour, Southsea beach and the King Lud viewed from the end of the pier have made me ache to be back on the most gorgeous county island. I read of the closure of Freshwater doctor’s surgery with alarm. My heart goes out to those affected by the latest slip at undercliff drive. I remember many years ago speaking to an elderly and life long resident of Steephill cove and being astounded by her frank acceptance of the effects of blue slipper clay. The rotational slips are a feature of this side of the island and their expertise and experience means they are managed and accepted, there is a price to pay for such beauty I guess.

I have a constant and gnawing need to walk along the promenade at Ventnor before pushing my knee to walk up the punishing hill. To drive along the glorious military road, winding down into Black gang before passing the White Mouse Inn and rising up to the vista of the cliffs. Finally dropping down into Freshwater bay and strolling to the Albion to watch the ocean caressing the bay as if it shares my love. I want to walk over the coastal path to the Needles, sucking in the view of the mainland and the wonderful comfort that I find in the separation afforded by the Solent.

To wander without a care around Yarmouth town with a resident population of less than 1000 in the winter and the seasonal hibernation in Cowes. I want to feel the weight of life lifting from my shoulders as I take the left turn into St Thomas street and see the shimmer of the ocean at the bottom of the street, as it always does. I look forward, more each day, to the time when arriving at fishbourne or ryde means that I have come home and not that I have arrived. I look forward to an ever reducing number of trips to the mainland and most of all to a sunday afternoon stroll along my Appley beach.
From the world of hotel residency I bring you the joy of an alarm at 04.00, more joyful when the adjacent room finishes their party at 2 am! On leaving the room I grabbed the TV remote to shut it down and then realised that paper thin walls work both ways. Notching up the volume I noted groans from next door with some satisfaction before strolling down the corridor.

Finally I would like to share with you the latest round with Ms Nature. My left knee and, to some degree, my hip have been playing up this week. The result is tightening of the joints and associated pain but more annoyingly a limp. Occasionally I get a sharp stabbing pain that is quite debilitating or a lock up that inevitably defeats perambulation but the limp is worse. The limp, you see, is her way of gaining a point.

I get up from my chair to walk to a meeting, the knee is tight and sore so I limp. As soon as I realise that I am limping I snarl at Ms Nature and fight back, forcing normal behaviour. To some degree this must make me look like I am gunning for sympathy, I am not. This is simply tiredness or distraction making me forget to test the knee before I set off. Yesterday was a cool but pleasant day and when I left work I decided that a walk to the superstore was in order, just to keep the knee in line. The knee complained as did the hip but they also achieved what was asked of them.

I returned to the hotel, had a shower and settled in for the evening. My wrists had come to the party now with a pain like a hot rivet had been inserted in place of a screw. Having subdued Ms Nature enough to sleep I drifted off with a victorious smile. Awaking in the night for the toilet I jumped out of bed, took one step and collapsed. I only just missed head-butting the door frame, my knee was swollen and felt like it had been filled with treacle. As I righted myself and limped to the bathroom I am sure I heard Ms Nature cackling behind me. . . 

Its not all views and smiles

Once again this weekend has reminded me how much I love the ocean. On Friday I struggled to keep up with my indoor water features, as did most of us who live directly on the coast. The price that we pay for amazing views is the lack of any obstruction to certain winds. When the wind hits us it has raced unchecked across the ocean there is nothing to slow or calm it and we catch it head on. In my case this results in rain being driven so hard that it overwhelms the drainage in my UPVC windows and uses it as access. It also overwhelms the mortar joints above the lintels and finds its way through the wall resulting in weeping walls that would make a catholic proud. On Friday evening, as I was serenaded to sleep by dripping water, I was seriously concerned that I would run out of absorption and capture methods.

Awaking on Saturday, and even more so today, I was greeted by dazzling crystal calm waters. As I write this there are people swimming in the ocean outside and dozens of people walking along the promenade in stunning sunshine. Would I pass up the view for a dry home? Hell no! Like an over empowered child the ocean tantrums and throws its rage at us with devastating effect but the next day that is all forgotten and were friends again. You just can’t hold a grudge against something so beautiful. Even on an island there are only small number of us who live at the coast and an even smaller number that are ocean facing but I don’t know of one that would swap. Those that move away will always tell you how they miss the wonder of an ocean lullaby.

I have kept a watchful eye on my beloved island and am pleased to report that it is still there. Images of Chinook helicopters ferrying in all terrain vehicles were a little disconcerting at first but a quick check confirmed that the cross solent ferries were still running. Whilst it seems rather incongruous to see vehicles flying overhead when cars are driving onto ferries it is a tribute to a service that has faltered less than the mainland railway routes in this poor weather. As always its fantastic to see the small communities on the island pulling together, can’t wait to be part of it.