Livin' It Large On The Isle Of Wight

Ahoy!
The authentic IOW experience begins the moment we step onto the Red Funnel ferry. In holiday mood we climb to the sun deck, only to hit a solid wall of fug from the chain-smoking Netto lorry drivers who, taking advantage of the Island’s relaxed drink-driving policy, are downing pints and vodka chasers with gusto, and singing songs about Old Poland. It’s 9:15.

Retreating below, we relish the atmosphere, thick with chipfat and salad cream from yesteryear’s crossings. This is the life! Nostalgia or what? Enthused, Mrs G scores us a coffee. “Two flat whites, please,” she asks politely. “Fiw-uh or la-ay,”¹ drones the scowling inbred tattooed vacant sickly halfwit behind the bar. One colossal, cash-only payment later, and we take our “coffee” and Twiglets back to the formica and leatherette “lounge” to while away the crossing.

“Island roads are different!”, warned the poster on the ferry, and it’s true! Ten minutes from the terminal we are stuck behind a mobility scooter with an ‘I saw Hendrix in ‘73’ bumper sticker. He is refusing to go round the smouldering remains of a Netto lorry. We wait for the jolly bobbies to run up and arrest everyone, then follow a combine harvester to our holiday home.

An hour or two later we step out into the delightful countryside. We don’t see much for the first mile or so, as we have to concentrate to avoid the dogpats², and youths on stolen mopeds, but soon we are walking, following our noses³, free and easy on Britain’s Sunshine Island.

I have invented an IOW game which you can play if you get bored hiking here. It’s called Spot The Islander. Greet everyone you see with a friendly wave, then observe. Fellow tourists will wave back, perhaps sharing a word or two. Recent Island émigrés will mumble or look away. But native Islanders will scowl or swear, or both, and set their dog on you. Never fails.

We have a whole week of such delights. People say that to visit the IOW is to return to the Seventies but this is doing it an injustice. In fact it has moved with the times, keeping a little of each decade; we have Sixties architecture, Seventies service, Eighties decor, Nineties music, and a Noughties economy, all blended with bang-up-to-date eye-watering prices. It’s a unique and heady mix, and it’s over all too soon.

On the return ferry we ponder: will we return next year? I fear not. We may only be able to afford Mallorca, or Jamaica. But we’ll be back. It’s in the blood. We’ll be back.

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1 - Meaning "Filter or latte". The letter 't' has made many valiant, but unsuccessful, attempts to cross the Solent
2 - Dogpats are like cowpats; just as big, dropped from a great height by a vast canine. They're like poo landmines.
3 - And holding them. Those dogpats pack a punch