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We were going to the Isle of Wight today for a weekend of wedding celebrations (not our own or Queen Elizabeth and Winston Churchill’s) and about to spend the longest away from the kids that they’ve ever been without a parent (I think there’s only been single nights before). We made things harder for ourselves when Catie booked in a last minute appointment at the dentist - I assumed it would be fine as it was only a couple of hours drive to Portsmouth so we’d be left with a good 50 minute cushion before we had to be at the ferry terminal. Have I ever driven in the UK before? To answer my own question, yes I have, but I seemed to have forgotten what it was like. Also the dentist was more like 2 hours 20 minutes from Portsmouth as it was in the wrong direction from our house. The sat nav predicted delays of 40 minutes. It was going to be tight.
Why do we do this to ourselves? We could have set off five hours early and had a leisurely time and stopped at tourist attractions or just played on the machines at the services. Instead we had three hours in the car and couldn’t stop for a wee or anything. But unusually for us, the sat nav time of arrival stayed consistent and we arrived half an hour before departure as we were supposed to.
The ferry was delayed by half an hour.
All the stress was for nothing.
The sun was bright and it felt like we were going on holiday (which we were). We sat on the top deck of the ferry and watched Portsmouth move into the distance though basically not disappear because the Isle of Wight is so close and looked at the blue sea and caught the sun. The kids would have loved it, but we enjoyed not having to be on guard for Ernie trying to climb over the railings and jump into the sea.
The Isle of Wight looked beautiful and lush in the sunshine and parts of the drive along winding roads on hills overlooking a blue sea reminded me of being in the Caribbean (though it’s one inhabited almost exclusively by white people - clue in the name). We reminisced about old pre-kids holidays. It felt like we used to go away a lot, though it was only once a year.
Our hotel had looked quite posh in the pictures when we’d booked it, but it turned out to be pretty run down and our room and bed were small and rather bedraggled and it became apparent there was no sound proofing as you could hear every floor board creak in the rooms around us. I’ve stayed in a lot of poor hotel rooms in my time, but we’d been looking forward to something mildly special for this mini-holiday, so it was a bit of a shame. I was mostly concerned that we’d get a shit night’s sleep. Getting some sleep was the thing I’d been most looking forward to.
But we were quickly out to head to the wedding eve celebrations. We had time to go for a curry and then a walk down to a stony beach. It was loaded with the kind of pebbles that Phoebe likes to paint on, so we gathered up a few. Having nothing to put them in, Catie held some in her hands and we walked back up the hill to put them in the car. I thought how funny we’d look to anyone who recognised us. They’d assume I was stone clearing, but made my wife do all the carrying.
The happy couple had hired out a pub which was packed with friends and family. Everyone was having fun in the sun (or inside the hot crowded bar). I think this weekend might get rather messy. Though not for me of course. I drank a Guinness zero and then drove Catie back to the hotel, and even though it creaked and we could hear every footstep for twenty metres and every door that opened and shut, we were tired enough to get to sleep OK.
